


Whale

by piratemistress



Series: Pearls [8]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End (2007), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-27
Updated: 2007-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratemistress/pseuds/piratemistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Elizabeth find themselves more entangled than they'd originally planned; Jack narrates post-Singapore adventures with Gibbs, Anamaria and a cold-blooded but badly dressed pirate captain called Gory Theodore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
_Pearl of the whale, possessor of great virtues and secrets, rose stone divided into light and dark as dawn from darkness, guide us and our companions on life's journey. Holder of the mysteries of the ocean depths, grant us skill and strength, let us unite truth and untruth, night and day, man and woman, water and land, and all the opposite forces of this world.  
  
_ The parlor was silent, save for the low tick-tock of the clock, and the breathing of its three occupants. Will was restless; he sat, then he stood, then he paced behind the divan where Elizabeth was seated. Elizabeth eyed him now and then, lost as she was in her own thoughts. She wondered what he was thinking about.  
  
Her father sat in an upholstered chair, sipping brandy. He'd taken to drinking it in the evenings ever since they had returned from their unplanned sojourns with lords and pirates. He was nervous, he said, and it helped him sleep. Elizabeth wondered about that, too. He looked haggard in the mornings, as though he didn't sleep at all. When she asked, he said he was plagued by nightmares, and yet he could never remember them upon waking. Nerves, she assured him.  
  
And she was suffering from a bit of nerves herself, she thought. That was the only explanation for her distracted state. That, and guilt, but thinking about what she'd allowed to happen only made it worse. She hadn't slept much the previous night. All she could think about was Jack. The sound of his voice, the musky smell of his skin, the way his eyes glittered when he touched her.   
  
“Elizabeth, you're unusually quiet this evening,” said Governor Swann, and she looked up to find her father's concerned gaze upon her.   
  
“Am I?” she said, glancing at Will, who was staring out the parlor window, his arms crossed rather moodily across his chest. “Perhaps we're in need of entertainment. A diversion. You could tell us all a story,” she suggested to her father.  
  
He chuckled. “I haven't got very many interesting stories, Elizabeth. And the most recent one you've heard at least three times.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled, reaching over to pat her father's hand. “Never mind how many times I've heard it. Tell it again.”  
  
“Oh, my dear, you might never tire of it, but I fear William here won't be able to withstand another telling.”  
  
“Not at all,” Will said, still staring out the window at the somewhat cloudy evening. “I've heard how it all happened several times now... and yet...” He frowned, casting a worried glance at Elizabeth. “I can't help wondering how it might have turned out differently. It might have all gone wrong, somehow.”  
  
Elizabeth and her father were silent. Elizabeth knew the feeling; the fear that something awful might have happened, that she could have lost someone she loved... she glanced at her father. She might have lost him... or Will. Bootstrap and James had been equally in danger. She shook off the chill that sometimes settled over her with such thoughts. They were just fears, and yet they were so vivid... like the dim recollections of a nightmare.  
  
“Tell the story, Father. Please?” she said.   
  
“Very well - that is - if you insist, my dear.” Weatherby Swann looked wistfully at the empty brandy glass he set on a side table and cleared his throat before beginning. “I had been on the _Endeavor_ for several months. I thought it the wisest course of action - there, doing Beckett's bidding, all the while listening for any scrap of news that might come my way. News of you, of course, Elizabeth.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled at the warmth in her father's eyes, and he continued.  
  
“I seemed to be doing nothing; all the while I was assessing. It was clear to me that Beckett was cunning, brilliant even... very ambitious... but with several weaknesses. One was his tendency to miss grey areas. He wanted answers to questions to be simple, yes or no, north or south, nothing in between; while those of us experienced in politics know there are always compromises to be made. He wanted to command with force, with fear, with unrelenting power... and yet that was to be his downfall, because there are some sources of power that ought never to be meddled in.”  
  
“Davy Jones,” Will said quietly.  
  
The governor nodded, once, before continuing. “The Kraken was a threat to Beckett's authority as long as it remained under Jones' command. He ordered Jones to kill it; Jones had no choice but to obey. It was then that I began to suspect the connection between the chest on the _Endeavor_ and Jones' obedience. Jones _feared_ Beckett; or more so, he feared something Beckett could do. I questioned James Norrington about it, but he was evasive. Otherwise he seemed pained, conflicted, as though he'd made a wrong choice, which I imagine he had. He was kind to me - saw that I was comfortable, and so on, but still held hushed conversations with Beckett. I knew there was something they were hiding from me... perhaps several things. I thought of you, Elizabeth, I worried for your safety, and everything I did, I did in the hopes that... that you would be all right.”  
  
Elizabeth clasped her father's hand, tightly.  
  
“One evening I was alone in Beckett's office on board, scribbling out numerous edicts issued by Beckett - arrest warrants, decrees and the like - when the now-Admiral James Norrington came in, looking as pained as ever. He paced the room as I watched out of the corner of my eye, absently fingering the sword you'd made for him, Will - and finally he turned to me with a grave expression.  
  
'What is it?' I asked. 'Has something happened?'  
  
'If it occurred, it occurred weeks ago,' he said.  
  
'What?' I said, beginning to fear the worst.  
  
'Beckett would have me believe that...' Here he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists, leaning forward on the table, then standing up again. '...that Jack Sparrow perished when the Kraken dragged down the _Black Pearl_... and that Elizabeth and Will perished with him.'  
  
I was stunned. The quill fell from my fingers, making stray marks on the parchment, everything blurred. 'Is it true? Do you believe it?' I asked.  
  
He only shook his head. 'There's no way to know for certain... unless... but don't you think, if he'd survived, if they'd survived, we'd have heard something by now? Sparrow's a bloody pirate, but he'd have made his presence known, somehow... and Elizabeth... I don't...' He broke off, unsure of what to say next. Suddenly he turned to me, looking fierce. 'This has gone too far. We must stop him. He's counting on the fact that no one save myself and Mercer know about the heart - know that whoever stabs that heart takes the place of -'  
  
The door opened, with a sudden creak, and we both jumped. But it was just a gust of air, or so it seemed, and Norrington exhaled nervously before he bent to me again. 'Find someone to stab the heart,' he said. 'Someone innocuous and stupid.'  
  
'Why can't we stab it ourselves?' I asked.  
  
'Because I don't fancy living heartless for all of eternity,' he answered, his expression grim. 'Do you?'  
A noise in the corridor startled us again, and he said, 'Go. Find someone to stab it. I'll stay here, and keep Beckett away as long as I can.'  
  
I jumped up, nearly knocking over the inkwell in my haste, and left the room, trying to comprehend it all. I couldn't believe you were dead - either of you - it was unthinkable, and I stumbled back to my cabin and poured myself a stiff drink, thinking about what the admiral had said. I needed to plan a course of action, and I lay down on the bunk - just for a moment, mind you, to clear my head and recover from the shock - and I must have fallen asleep, for a moment or two, and had the oddest dream.”  
  
Elizabeth leaned forward, frowning. “You never told us this part before.”  
  
The governor nodded quickly. “You know, it never seemed important - but since you mentioned - well, I daresay it was quite an odd dream. Just a glimpse really - a look in the mirror, except I saw Jack Sparrow, of all people, in a tiny little cabin sort of like mine, and he was arguing with someone, but his back was to me. Then - he moved, and I could swear, just for a moment - it looked like you, Elizabeth, that the two of you were arguing about something and you were upset and in the dream I wanted to reach out and tell you I was there -“  
  
Elizabeth's eyes were wide. The scene her father described seemed real, and yet, she had no memory of arguing with Jack in a cabin - she'd been careful not to be alone with him, ever, until... “Then what?” she asked her father breathlessly. Will had come to stand over her behind the divan, one hand resting on her shoulder.  
  
“Well, then that... vision, or however you'd like to call it - disappeared, and I saw Jack Sparrow again, sitting in front of a candle - on the floor, strangely - and he was staring straight ahead. He was shaking hands with someone, but I couldn't see them, I was there but I wasn't there, it was all very odd - and I woke up with a throbbing headache, and felt certain of two things: one, that Jack Sparrow was very much alive, and that you must be as well; and two, that I had to act immediately on the admiral's suggestion and find someone to stab the heart, right away.”  
  
“I was halfway down the corridor in the dark, rounding a corner, when I saw the light of a torch out of the corner of my eye. I peered around the corner, back toward my cabin, and I saw Mercer, holding the torch, dagger in hand, stealing quietly into my room. It was abundantly clear he'd been sent to kill me... it was the dream that woke me, and if it hadn't been for that, I don't know what would have...” He shuddered, and Elizabeth shuddered a little, too - it was all too possible, her father's murder.  
  
“I stole through the ship as quietly as possible. I need only find the man I sought - I already knew a perfect candidate to stab the heart. Innocuous and stupid, as Norrington had said - a redheaded midshipman by the name of Myrtleby Higgs, who I'd met on several occasions. He was the youngest of nine children, among which all the males had enlisted in the Navy or become merchants; the only person he cared for on land would be his aging Mum who always asked him to rub her yellow, corned feet and in avoidance of whom he'd enlisted in the Navy in the first place... you see, I didn't think it fair to ask someone who had a family counting on him, a child, God forbid... even a lady love, a wife or betrothed pining the years away waiting for him to come home...”  
  
Elizabeth laid a hand over Will's as it squeezed her shoulder tight.  
  
“...And so I soon found Higgs at his watch post on deck, pale eyes staring blankly over the dark ocean... and I bade him come with me, and we climbed the steps to where they were keeping the heart. I explained to him once we got there - that he was going to be the new captain of the Flying Dutchman, and achieve things most men only dreamed of - and he blinked at me and said, 'Well, sir, I dunno... might be a bit odd living without me heart.'  
  
I opened the chest, and I said, guiding the knife in his hand toward the pulsing heart, 'Courage, my boy - think of it as a promotion, hm?'  
  
Just before he stabbed it, I squeezed his wrist hard and said, 'Now remember - once you're captain, the admiral and I will instruct you, and we're to stop Lord Beckett at all costs.'  
  
'Isn't that insubordination?' said Higgs, but I patted his back and gestured emphatically toward the heart.  
  
He stabbed it, and that's when everything happened. There was a great roar from the sea, and the _Dutchman_ surfaced beside us - Norrington rushed in, followed by Mercer and Beckett, and simply asked 'Is it done?' before drawing his sword at my nod, and rushing at Beckett.  
  
We could hear the _Dutchman_ 's crew swinging aboard, the terrified shouts of the other men - 'Don't resist!' I called down to them from the deck, 'Let them come!'  
  
Mercer went after me, and I ran, down the steps to the deck, nearly colliding with a great lout who seemed to have a wheel lodged in his neck - and I ran past him and he seized Mercer with a menacing grin, and I hid while trying to see what was happening above.  
  
I saw Myrtleby Higgs looking somewhat frightened, being half-escorted, half-carried down the steps by a monstrous pair of crewmen. They took him back to the _Dutchman_ ; a second later, Beckett tumbled lifelessly down those same steps. James Norrington stood at the top, wiping the blood from his sword with a handkerchief.  
  
'As Lord Beckett has met with an unfortunate accident, I am in command of this vessel,' he announced to everyone on deck: the soldiers who were hiding in various places, unsure of what was happening, the remaining _Dutchman_ crew who were rapidly fleeing for their ship, myself. 'To your stations, immediately.'  
  
At dawn the _Dutchman_ resurfaced, a much-invigorated and yet paler Myrtleby Higgs at its helm. Some of the crew were beginning to change into their former selves - slowly - and Admiral Norrington went aboard to have a conversation with Captain Higgs.  
  
'How long do you think he'll do our bidding?' I asked Norrington when he returned.  
  
'Until someone else convinces him otherwise,' he replied. 'I considered trying to get the heart and bring it back here... but then... that was the whole problem, wasn't it? They've got something to do, and I consider it best not to interfere. With perhaps one exception.' He stood aside and indicated an older man, a man about my age, with long grey hair and worried eyes, who was now on the deck of the _Endeavor_. 'Him.'  
  
'Oh,' I said. 'He's alive?'  
  
'So it would appear.' Norrington summoned the man to us.  
  
'Tell him who you are?'  
  
'Er... I'm a pirate,' the man said, and Norrington bristled, rolling his eyes.  
  
'I meant a _name_ , although since I am currently introducing you to the governor of Port Royal, your occupation does little to recommend you.'  
  
'Bill Turner,' the man said in a gravelly voice. 'My son...'  
  
'William,' I said, understanding at once.  
  
Norrington turned to me. 'Have you any objection to him joining us as we begin our search for certain... significant... individuals?'  
  
'No, of course not,' I said. 'I am most eager to begin looking for my daughter.'  
  
'And my son,' said Mr. Turner.  
  
'Not forgetting Jack Sparrow, of course?' Norrington said, and he strode off to see to the preparations.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled to herself, wondering if Jack would appreciate _someone_ thinking of him... even if that someone was James Norrington.   
  
“Well - and the rest you know,” said the governor to Will and Elizabeth. “We set off to find you, and all was well - aside from the brief skirmish with the _Pearl_ when you didn't realize we were on your side- the cannonfire was quite extraordinary-“  
  
“I do apologize, Governor, but we had no way of knowing Beckett wasn't in command,” Will said.  
  
Elizabeth sighed and compressed her lips. “Jack had figured it out. He was ordering you and Barbossa to cease and desist the entire time, but neither of you would listen.”  
  
“Oh, and listening to Jack's always turned out well for us, hasn't it?” Will replied testily, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward.  
“I'm sure you were quite right to be skeptical,” interjected the governor as he observed Will and Elizabeth at odds again. “But it's all turned out for the best, hasn't it? Everyone safe and sound?”  
  
“Well, except for Jones. And Beckett. And Mercer, of course. Not that they're to be mourned, exactly,” Will said. “But all the innocent men, the soldiers swept into the battle.”  
  
“And the Kraken,” Elizabeth said evenly as both men turned to stare at her agape. “He listed _Beckett_. I can't list the Kraken? It was alive, and now it's dead. Seems unfair not to count it as a casualty.”  
  
Will's eyes were lit with a dark amusement. “Are you saying you feel _sorry_ for the Kraken?”  
  
He was making fun of her. Elizabeth glared. “A bit, perhaps.”  
  
Will blinked at her. “May I remind you that we tried to blow it up ourselves?”  
  
“Well, of course we did. It was attacking us, because Jones had ordered it to! The poor thing's not evil, it was a slave to Jones just like the crew... I can't say I'd like to bring it along home or anything, only that... it was something that lived in the sea, you know, rather like... an octopus.”  
  
“Yes, a very large octopus that - since you've been feeling so sympathetic to both of them of late, I'll remind you - tried to kill Jack,” Will replied.  
  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes again as she rose to her feet. “Not a very important distinction, at this point... Who do we know that _hasn't_ tried to kill Jack?” At the exasperated expression on both of their faces, she made her face impassive and walked past Will. “I'm quite tired - think I'll be going off to bed. Good night,” she said to neither of them in particular.  
  
“Good night,” Will echoed, and she could feel him staring at her as she ascended the steps. From the landing she heard her father whispering excuses for her... the strain, the shock, women were delicate at times...  
  
Inside her bedroom, she took the pins from her hair and reached for her hairbrush on her dressing table. It was gone. “Hmph,” she remarked to herself, perplexed. She bent to search the floor, checked under the table, perhaps it had fallen and been kicked... but it wasn't there, wasn't anywhere, and Elizabeth was stuck with a tangled mass, clumps of hair that might as well have been tentacles waving from her head.  
  
“Poor thing,” she whispered to herself, thinking of the lifeless, beached Kraken Barbossa had described to her, knowing it was silly to feel that way about it, but feeling a smidgen of pity nonetheless. Even Jack had been struck by it, she was sure... Barbossa had told her how Jack had stared piteously into its great, unmoving eye.  
  
Jack...  
  
She heard the front door open and close. That was Will leaving. Soon after, her father's footsteps on the stair; the lamps doused, no more light spilled under her door. Her heart began to beat faster... supposing she found her boy's clothes, and slipped off the balcony just as Jack had two nights before... she hung her head and squeezed her eyes tight. Nothing made any sense, nothing was right... why did she miss Jack like a physical ache, right in the center of her chest, when she ought to forget him completely?  
  
It would take her an hour to reach the ship. An hour and she could be talking to Jack... what would she say?  
  
“This is nonsense,” she told her reflection, and began to work the buttons on her dress. They hadn't been able to find enough servants to fully staff the house since their return; she was getting better at wriggling out of her own clothes. She dragged a hand through her hair. Where _was_ her brush? She walked toward the bed, taking a last look underneath, and that was when she saw a dark, unfamiliar shape. She reached under and pulled it out.  
  
It was a man's hat. Tricorn, brown leather. Jack's hat.  
  
She grinned in spite of herself, fighting the urge to clasp it to her chest. She walked over to the mirror, placing the hat on her head. It was too large, and sat low over her eyebrows. She smiled mysteriously at her reflection and tugged it down over her eyes, then back up to reveal a sultry expression.  
  
“Hello, Jack,” she said to her reflection. “Remember the other night when you stole into my room and we... erm...” She swallowed, trying to look matter-of-fact. “Well, afterward, seems you forgot your hat.”  
  
She snatched it from her head and watched her own eyes as she clutched the hat in her fingertips. “I've got one hour to think of something better than that,” she told herself.  
  
Ten seconds later, she whirled and began to search hurriedly for trousers and a shirt.  
  
  
* *  
  
She could see the _Pearl_.  
  
It was the first time she'd seen it since they'd disembarked a week before, and the sails were furled, the ship gently rocking in the harbor. The cove was well-known to be a pirate hideaway, and yet there were no other ships there at present; as she stood on the summit of the hill, she was made nearly breathless by the beauty of the moonlight on the sea water.   
  
It was nearly midnight; all that remained was to follow the stony path down from the hillside to the water, and climb out over the rocks that served as a makeshift dock. This was the point of no return; she could simply about face and go home, like the proper young woman she had been. She could still forget Jack Sparrow... so she told herself, though it had proved impossible thus far...  
  
She turned and squeezed through the tall shrubs that masked the entrance to the path. She closed her eyes as the tiny branches brushed her face, her legs, and suddenly she collided with a large obstacle.   
  
“Oomph,” said the obstruction, in a deep voice.  
  
Her eyes flew open. It was a man, a man who had just ascended the path. A familiar man.  
  
“Mr. Turner?” she gasped without thinking - in the dark, he might never have recognized _her_ , if she hadn't spoken.  
  
“Miss _Swann_?” he echoed, and the two of them stared at each other, mouths slightly open.  
  
Elizabeth recovered first; she cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Bootstrap narrowed his eyes. “Might ask you the same thing.”  
  
Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. Will's father was no fool. “One might wonder if you're making plans to rejoin your pirate associates... despite the pardon my father worked tirelessly to acquire for you?”  
  
One corner of Bootstrap's mouth lifted. “One might wonder that. Then again, one might wonder what a young miss is up to, alone in the dead o' night, with those self-same pirate 'associates'.”  
  
Elizabeth snatched the hat from her head. “I've come to return Jack's hat.”  
  
“Have you? All by yerself, in disguise?”  
  
“I shouldn't wish to worry my father,” she said in a hushed whisper.  
  
“Nor my son, no doubt,” Bootstrap replied.  
  
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of which, I believe your son might be equally concerned about his recently-pardoned father's possible return to piracy?”  
  
Bootstrap tilted his head, comprehending the game. “Aye, he might. Good thing you haven't _asked_ , then, or in so doing, discovered, anything of the kind, eh?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “Naturally. And as for Jack's hat-“  
  
“I won't ask what circumstances parted him from it in the first place. Though knowing Jack, he only tends to forget his things when he's-“  
  
“I'll thank you _not_ to speculate,” Elizabeth said quickly.  
  
It was quiet for a moment, Bootstrap and Elizabeth regarding one another warily.  
  
“Shall I wait for you, Miss Swann? Not terribly wise for a lass to run around by herself this time of night.”  
  
“You're forgetting, sir,” Elizabeth said with a short bow and a twinkle in her eye as she placed Jack's hat back on her head, “tonight I'm not a lass at all.”  
  
“Much safer that way,” Bootstrap said, though he cast his eyes down at the _Pearl_ and not toward town.   
  
“Good night, then, Mr. Turner,” she said.   
  
“Do be very careful, Miss Swann,” Bootstrap replied, and she thought she detected the slightest hint of a warning in his tone.  
  
She slipped past him and began to make her way down the winding path.  
  
  
* *  
  
  
Jack thought it might be time for bed with the lines on his maps began to swirl and blur in front of his eyes; he stifled a yawn and stood, folding the charts away. His fingers brushed an oblong, shiny object at the corner of the table; he reached over and picked it up, examining it.  
  
The palm-sized back was ornate; gold and silver were inlaid in elaborate swirling patterns, one on top of another. Horsehair bristles were stiff against his palm; he rotated the brush a little and in the candlelight, tawny strands glimmered. He plucked one out that was as long as his arm, holding it in front of him, watching how the light shimmered over the silken strand.   
  
In that moment he heard a screeching cackle, and a brown, furry shape dashed across his table, snatching up the brush before Jack realized what had happened.  
  
“Hey! Come back here!” he called after the monkey, who disappeared out the partially open cabin door. Jack lost only a moment to find and grab up his pistol before chasing after him.  
  
The monkey wasted no time in scampering up the rigging toward the crow's nest; Jack swore and began to load the pistol.   
  
Ragetti was pushing a brush back and forth over the fore part of the deck, humming and singing quietly to himself about well-scrubbed boards. Pintel - who was not on watch, but had nothing better to do - lounged against a coil of line and gazed at the stars.   
  
Ragetti was bending close to the deck to check his scrubbing, when suddenly he was knocked face-first into the boards, by way of something striking him on the back of the head. “Ow!” he cried, sitting up and holding his nose, which stung, and the back of his head, which throbbed.  
  
He turned to see a shiny object - a woman's brush, it seemed - on the deck next to him. He caught it up and wielded it at Pintel, who was wide-eyed with surprise. “So you think it's funny, do you, that Oi'm working and you're not? Is that it?”  
  
Pintel shook his head quickly, mutely. “Wasn't me! I swear! Came from up there!” he said, gesturing vaguely at the sky.   
  
“Oh, sure,” Ragetti said, climbing unsteadily to his feet. “Ladies' hairbrushes just fall from the sky _every day_ ,” he said in a singsong voice. Somewhere in the background they heard Jack the pirate swearing at Jack the monkey, but as this was rather commonplace, they paid it little mind.  
  
“I _swear_ it wasn't me,” Pintel said, getting up as Ragetti tapped the brush menacingly in his palm.  
  
“I'll teach you to swear!” Ragetti said, hauling back with his arm and hurling the brush at Pintel's head with all his might.  
  
Pintel ducked instinctively, bending over in a flash as though taking a bow; behind him, Gibbs was walking toward them, and was in the process of saying “Now what's all this-“ when he was struck square in the forehead with the flying hairbrush.  
  
Gibbs stumbled backward, clutching his forehead as Pintel and Ragetti stared in mute horror. “By the blessed Babe's bollocks,” he growled through his hands, “what in the devil's going on over here? Have ye lost the few sorry wits ye had to start with?”  
  
Pintel's mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged; Ragetti managed to stammer, “M-master Gibbs, it were an accident, I swear!”  
  
Gibbs uncovered his face, still squinting against the pain, and prodded the extremely sore spot in the center of his head with one thick finger. “I ought t' have ye both lashed fer this!” he grumbled.  
  
“He's the one threw it,” Pintel said hurriedly, pointing at Ragetti.  
  
“I was throwin' it _back_ ,” Ragetti countered.  
  
Gibbs took a step toward them, one hand on his temple, almost tripping over the brush, which had landed by his feet. Just then, Jack the monkey dropped down from the rigging overhead and scooped up the brush.  
  
“I've got ye now, you lousy simian excuse for an undead creature,” said Jack menacingly as he crossed the deck behind the foremast, pistol in hand.   
  
The monkey squealed in fright, and clutched the brush to his tiny chest with one arm while scampering up Gibbs' leg and torso to perch on his shoulder. Gibbs was used to the monkey; he was rubbing his aching forehead and as such, didn't see Jack leveling the pistol at him.  
  
Pintel and Ragetti watched incredulously as Jack closed one eye, balancing the pistol in mid-air. Gibbs dropped his hands from where they had been rubbing his eyes, to find Jack five feet away, aiming a gun at him.  
  
“Er... Jack?”  
  
“Master Gibbs, I'll ask you to be still. Don't move.”  
  
The monkey screeched, standing on Gibbs' shoulders and hiding his body behind Gibbs' head.  
  
“Ah... Jack,” Gibbs began. The safety lock on the pistol clicked; Gibbs swallowed. “Jack... what in the Saints' name are ye doing?”  
  
Jack paused, opening the eye he had shut, lifting up his head to peer at Gibbs through narrowed eyes. “Isn't it obvious?” he shrugged with the pistol. “I'm shooting the damned monkey.”  
  
Jack the monkey cried again, an ear-splitting shriek, and dug his free hand into Gibbs' hair.  
  
“Er... Jack,” Gibbs said in what he hoped was a calming voice, “we've sailed together a long time, and it's not that I doubt yer aim at all, but... I'm thinking ye might reconsider this a bit.”  
  
“What's to reconsider?” Jack said with a broad, friendly smile. Then the smile disappeared. “Hold still.”  
  
“Jack, I'd like to raise an objection to this here course of action,” Gibbs said as the monkey leaned first left, and then right, behind his head, following the motions of Jack's pistol.  
  
“Objection noted,” Jack replied in a dull monotone, closing one eye again and peering down the barrel of the pistol.  
  
“Jack!” Gibbs cried. “Cap'n or not, ye can't do this!”  
  
“Watch me,” said Jack. “Count o' three. One.”  
  
“Jack, if ye shoot me, I'm going t'kill you,” Gibbs swore, and the monkey did a little dance of agreement on his shoulders, wielding the hairbrush like a shield.  
  
“Two.”  
  
Pintel and Ragetti's heads turned; someone was running towards them on the deck.  
  
“Three,” Jack said, and squeezed the trigger. At that moment, someone seized his arm at the elbow and knocked it upward, so that the shot sailed high over the heads of Gibbs and the monkey; the monkey screeched and cackled, and hopped down from Gibbs' shoulder to the rail behind him, where he promptly tossed the hairbrush into the harbor, whirling to dance a little celebratory jig on the rail.  
  
Jack and Gibbs turned to see who had interfered; Jack stared in a bit of shock, and Gibbs sagged with relief as he ran to catch up their visitor in a bear hug.  
  
“Oh, Miss Swann, I'm ever so glad to see ye,” Gibbs groaned as though fighting back sobs, as Elizabeth patted his back awkwardly, trying to extract herself from his too-firm embrace.  
  
When he released her, he turned to Jack, who was still staring, mouth agape, at Elizabeth. Elizabeth, too, seemed at a loss for words; Gibbs took a moment to look back and forth between the two of them before he mumbled, “I'll just be - er - “ and took off for another part of the ship.  
  
“I've got to-“ said Ragetti.  
  
“Nice t' see ye, poppet-“ said Pintel, and they were gone.  
  
There was an awkward silence as Jack and Elizabeth regarded each other in the lamplight on the deck. A breeze lifted the ends of her tied-back hair, and Jack's sleeves billowed a bit in the wind as he crossed his arms.  
  
“Well,” said Jack stiffly when several moments had passed. “Have you got a reason for coming down here, other than to ruin my shot and interfere with the workings of my ship?”  
  
Elizabeth held up what she had clutched in her fist. “You... erm... forgot your hat.”  
  
He stared at the hat for a few seconds, and then lifted his brows. “So I did.”  
  
She waited for him to move. “Are you going to take it?”  
  
He reached out and lifted it from her outstretched fingers. “Of course.”  
  
Another moment passed. “Are you going to thank me?” she said.  
  
He smiled. “Given that you've done me a favor and caused trouble in the space of the same few minutes-“  
  
“You were _shooting_ at Gibbs!”  
  
“I wa'n't _shooting_ at Gibbs,” Jack corrected with two emphatic jabs of his index finger. “I was shooting at the goddamn _monkey_.”  
  
“You might have missed!” Elizabeth argued.  
  
“I never miss,” Jack announced, placing the hat on his head and walking past her as he headed for his cabin.  
  
“Is that all you've got to say?” she called after him as she followed him across the deck. Ragetti seemed even more intent on his scrubbing as she passed.  
  
“Is that all I've got to say about what?” Jack said, still moving rapidly.   
  
“Jack!” she said, and something her tone - the note of pleading, perhaps - made him stop and turn around.  
  
He regarded her from the bottoms of his eyes as she took a few steps closer. “What are you doing here?” he nearly whispered.  
  
“I came to return your hat,” she answered quietly.  
  
He doffed the hat in question, and shook it airily. “Well - there it is.”  
  
Another quiet moment passed, and Jack took a step backward. “I'll just be - er - put this in me cabin.”   
  
He turned and took three large steps away from her, toward his cabin door, before suddenly whirling on one foot to face her again. “Don't s'pose you'd care to-“  
  
“Yes, thank you.” She followed him across the deck and into his cabin, where she shut the door behind her and touched it with her fingertips, resisting the urge to lean on it like a brazen hussy. She watched as he strode all the way across the cabin, hanging his hat on a peg. There was a candle burning, its smoke acrid in the small room.  
  
  
  
When he turned to her, he took in her watchful, expectant expression, the closed door. He saw her catch her breath, holding it as though if she breathed out, it would be a surrender. He honestly hadn't expected to see her tonight; she'd snuck out, quite a risky thing, her wedding coming up and all. He hadn't stopped thinking about her for more than a few minutes since he'd left her two nights ago, her kiss still sweet on his lips and a spot of her virgin's blood on his breeches. He had been feeling like the lowest kind of man - even lower than usual - knowing what he'd done, even though it had been freely offered... how could he have taken her, after everything, how could she have let him?  
  
But he swallowed his guilt, as he always did, only this time it sat in his stomach like a stone. He reminded himself that he was Captain Jack Sparrow, which was never as uplifting as he expected it to be, and then abandoned insignificant truths like his identity for the safety of shapely lies, like the one he told himself frequently: that Elizabeth was just a woman like all the others. He cleared his throat.  
  
“Remind me to give you an old hat to wear before you go. You still look rather... girl-ish... without one.”  
  
“Do I?” she said. “If you say so. You've got one in here?”  
  
“Somewhere.”  
  
There was an awkward pause, and she glanced down at her booted feet, shifting from one to the other. “Should we... look for it now?”  
  
“That depends on when exactly you're going, I'd imagine,” Jack said, eyeing her. “Will you be leaving... soon?”  
  
She looked up at him, and their gazes locked. “Do you want me to go?” she breathed, a seductress's plea if he'd ever heard one, and he smiled.  
  
“Y'know, Lizzy,” he said, and they had started to meander toward each other, as though pulled on an invisible string, “once, you can call a mistake. To err is woman, and all that. But twice... twice is a choice. Twice may as well be a hundred times,” he breathed, and somehow he had reached her; or rather, they had reached each other, in the exact center of his cabin.  
  
Elizabeth looked at him, sizing him up, the barest trace of a smile tugging at her parted lips. “I hardly think it'll take a hundred times to get my fill of _you_ ,” she said with mock disdain, reaching out to brush her thumb along the edge of his beard, and then tug very gently at one of the braids. He bent closer, his fingers flexing in anticipation, as she raised her chin to look at him from beneath seductively lowered lids. “Perhaps only five... or ten... or... twenty...” and the last word was whispered against his lips just before all restraint went up in smoke and they collided, her lips opening eagerly at the first insistent touch of his tongue. Once he swept inside, he meant to let her know she was his, completely, even if it was only for the night.  
  
She responded beautifully, but then, she always did when he got hold of her. Getting hold of her was the tricky part. An arm, a leg, was wrapped here, flung there, and soon they were spiraled together, a mess of limbs and hands and hair.  
  
His jacket was the first thing to hit the floor after Elizabeth pushed it from his shoulders, while he reached behind him to guide it off, refusing to break the kiss, and so he was contorted at an odd angle that tempted him to taste her jaw and the smooth skin of her neck as long as it was right in front of him; he was rewarded with a deep groan that bespoke the desires of a grown woman, not a virgin girl.  
  
He was still kissing her deeply as he pulled her forward by her tunic and worked at the brass buttons upon it, shoving them impatiently through their holes until he reached the top one, which refused to fit through its hole, and after enduring nearly a minute of his fumbling with it, Elizabeth broke the kiss to laugh, turning her head to the side. “The great Jack Sparrow, undone by a button?”   
  
He realized he was glad to hear her sound _happy_. She hadn't seemed happy for so long. “Let us worry about the button's undoing, and not mine,” he said, trying to sound stern, which only made her laugh more, as she lifted slender, nimble fingers to the stubborn brass nub and slipped it easily through, catching his eye with a teasing glint.   
  
“Not so hard,” she taunted.  
  
“Hm, thought the other night would have taught you to watch such turns of phrase, Lizzy darling,” he said with an equal amount of tease, though he suddenly drew in his breath when she prodded gently at the rapidly-firming bulge in his breeches, before cupping it boldly in her palm as no recently-innocent miss ought to know how.  
  
“As I said, not so hard,” she breathed, giving a tiny gasp of pleasure when she felt him respond to her, and he groaned as he leaned forward to touch his forehead to her shoulder.  
  
“You're going to eat those words,” he murmured, and then he grasped her waist to turn her around and steer her back toward the bed, where she went without resistance. “Fortunately for you, they're not the first item on the menu tonight.”  
  
They fell on the bed, a tangle of limbs. He could sense her growing confusion mixed with desire as he tasted each spot he uncovered, from shoulders to navel... when he ventured below she raised her head to peer at him, flushed, willing to follow his lead but not knowing what... “Jack, what are you doing?”  
  
He smiled, brushing his mustache and mouth across the skin over her hipbone. His dark eyes flicked up to glance at her once as he said matter-of-factly with the lift of a brow, “I'm going to bury my tongue in your quim.”  
  
“Oh,” she said on a note of bewildered fascination, as he continued his descent. Then, finally comprehending. “Oh. _Oh_...”  
  
That was heavenly, too, to see her spread before him, watching her writhe and squint and clutch the sheets in her fingers when he found the pink pearl between her folds, completely lost in it. When she came, she cried out his name and gasped as the waves took her, and he smiled against the inside of her thigh while he waited for her to come back to herself. His smile faded as he realized that he had been happy, also, ridiculously happy, at that moment.  
  
And that scared him a little. He would need to bury that fear under a plethora of pleasures that would surely annihilate it... because he knew what that delirious stupidity was, that floating joy, and he told himself he was too old for it and besides, he ought to know better.  
  
She climbed atop him even as he was about to ask her to, and he leaned back on the bed half in wonder, half in sharp anticipation, and when she lowered herself upon him he felt all his muscles tighten beneath his waist, and he thought he might have sworn aloud at the sweet heat of her; anyway, she was looking at him as if he'd said something quite sacrilegious, which he probably had, but she leaned forward and covered his profane lips with hers as she lifted her hips and set them down again.  
  
He would have liked to credit himself with showing her how, but it wasn't as if it were very complicated, and she was doing very well on her own.  
  
“I want to feel what you felt the other night,” she whispered to him in a low voice, dragging her open mouth across his cheek. “Show me.”  
  
He briefly thought of trying to pretend he didn't know what she meant, how he'd sort of lost it completely by the end, but thinking was really difficult; instead he said, his voice deep and quite unsteady as she continued to move on top of him, “I can try, but you'll have to trust me. Can you really do that?”  
  
“Mmm... for a few hours, I suppose I can do anything,” she answered, her reply followed by a small cry as he lifted his hips at a different angle than before.  
  
“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, catching firm hold of her waist with his fingers, his voice reduced to little more than a rasp as he guided them into a rolling rhythm.  
  
She was intrigued, no question; he could tell by the furrowing of her brow, her changing expression, the way she was wiggling around. But 'intrigued' wasn't quite the effect he was going for, admittedly, and he closed his eyes as he hastily attempted to gather what limited knowledge he'd acquired about innocent lasses from the recesses of his somewhat fragmented mind, all the feeling the delicious pressure of her surrounding him, slippery depths he thought he'd only dream of enjoying...   
  
He was brought back to the moment by her hands on his shoulders; his name. “Jack.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
She was looking at him, and she'd stopped moving. “Come back to me.”  
  
“Mmm, I never left.”  
  
“Yes, you did. I can tell.”   
  
“Can you, now?” He moved his hips sharply; she gasped.  
  
“Yes...”  
  
“Like that?”  
  
“Oh, yes.”  
  
“Is that what you want?”  
  
“ _Yes_... but I...” Her cheek brushed his; her lips ghosted over his jaw. “I want it to... it's not like... earlier.”  
  
Jack smiled secretively, and suddenly leaned forward and curled his legs beneath him, pushing her onto her back. “That's because we've just been loading the gun, darling,” he whispered, driving into her with a well-aimed thrust.   
  
She cried out from somewhere deep in her chest as he did it again, his hand coming to rest on her thigh, working its way between them. He knew her cry wasn't from pain, not this time, not any more, and as he drew back his hips, he bent his head to press his lips to her ear, just as he pressed his fingers to her where they joined. “Got to pull the trigger, then, haven't we?” he whispered.  
  
“You seem to be good at that,” she breathed, her head falling back as her whole body shook with each thrust.  
  
“Oh, but you can be good at it, too.” He reached up to capture her fingers with his, and returned them between her legs, laying his hand on top of hers as he drove deep. “Go on, love, don't be shy... can't wait for me to do all your firing for you.”  
  
“Why... not?” Her voice was fractured and dry; the fingers of her other hand curled around the back of his neck, beneath his hair. “You've always... managed to... come along and... do whatever shooting's needed.”  
  
Nonetheless, she did move her hand beneath his, even as he replied, “Pirate lasses do their _own_ shooting. Long as you know what you're aiming at. This, here.”  
  
“So that's where the... trigger is?”  
  
“You tell me... but _I_ think so, and as I said earlier-” he whispered the words gently against her parted lips - “I never miss.”  
  
She told him by groaning helplessly and moving against him, with a loss of restraint he hadn't imagined possible, until they were both wild and frantic and too desperate to be able to hold anything back, any longer... to Jack's surprise, the bed didn't collapse, the wall behind it didn't crack, and neither she nor he sustained any injuries. Well, _serious_ injuries. The skin on his back might never look quite the same, but it hadn't been very pretty to start with.  
  
By the glazed look on her face afterward, he gathered he'd satisfied her curiosity about _what he felt the other night_. He didn't tell her that to truly experience what he had the other evening she'd have to lust after him for a year or more, not being able to think of anyone else, all the while carrying on with life as though nothing were different; she'd have to want him and know that she shouldn't, want him and know that it could destroy her, want him and know that it could mean her life.   
  
Maybe she did. He'd never know, but he found comfort in pretending she did, as he guided her to the floor and followed, as he spread her across the table, as she cried his name on a gasp, in his ear, and it branded him somewhere inside.   
  
* *  
  
“Twenty times, you said?” Jack mouthed against her bare shoulder, one arm draped across her breasts as they settled back into his bed. “How many times do we have left, d'you think?”  
  
She rolled her eyes and sighed as he laughed. “Afraid I've lost count.” A shy smile, a touch of her hand to her forehead. In her voice he heard a touch of sincerity, a bit of regret, mixed with something like deep admiration. “God, I really have grown wicked... Jack Sparrow, you are an extremely bad influence. The absolute worst.”  
  
“Why, thank you. Let's see; if we've still got to have ten times between now and your wedding, that's more than twice a day. I'm an old man, Elizabeth, I don't think I can manage it.”  
  
“You'll manage,” she said fiercely, turning onto her side to face him, pinching his chin in her fingers. “And let's not talk about the wedding, please. Some things can't be helped.”  
  
A certain tone in her voice made him lift his head and look at her inquisitively. “Helped? Don't you _want_ to get married?”  
  
“Of course I do. It's just that I've gone from wishing that it were sooner, and then later, and then sooner, so many times I just wish it were _over_.”  
  
“That sounds to me like a woman who can't make up her mind.”  
  
“My mind is made up,” she said firmly, lest he should get the wrong idea. Then her face softened a little, and she stroked his cheek with a forefinger. “Let's not discuss what can't be changed. Tell me... tell me another tale. The one before the last one.”  
  
“What, are we going backwards?” Inspiration seemed to light up Jack's face, and he patted her bottom. “Backwards! Knew I'd forgotten... turn over, we still haven't-“  
  
“Jack! You're worn out, remember? The story?”  
  
Jack groaned, and lay on his back. “Oh, _bollocks_.Here we are, just as I predicted. One story only leads to another.”  
  
“Tell me the story,” Elizabeth commanded, curling her legs around one of his.   
  
“I don't think you'll like it.”  
  
“You said that before. And for someone who 'never misses'-” She paused, and Jack smiled naughtily - “-I must say, you're _wrong_ quite a bit.”  
  
“I am, eh? And how many times have you gone wrong in the last two days, darling?”  
  
“Told you already,” she said, pressing a kiss to his arm as it enfolded her. “I've lost count.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's tale begins.

  
The ship was the _Magic Dragon_ , Jack said; he the captain, Gibbs the first mate. They were crossing the Atlantic; they were almost to the Caribbean, and Jack scanned the horizon constantly, not just for Navy ships - or pirate ships - or a small merchant vessel ripe for the taking - but for a particular ship. In the endless seascape of waves and clouds, Jack saw, on occasion, the white beard of an old friend, or at night, the dark, watery eyes of a woman.  
  
“Any sign of her?” Gibbs said, and Jack paused in the act of lowering the telescope, temporarily unsure Gibbs hadn't read his mind.  
  
Then he realized he _couldn't_ know how his mind wandered, and had logically concluded Jack searched tirelessly for the _Pearl_. “No,” he said, in answer to all possible interpretations of the question.  
  
Gibbs harrumphed and drew up next to Jack at the rail. “Just as well. Not as if we could ever take her in this.”  
  
This was a fact Jack did not bother to deny. But he had given it some consideration, and perhaps it was time to share his thoughts with Gibbs; after a moment's pause he turned to him.  
  
“Master Gibbs, how much do you know about whales?”  
  
Gibbs brightened, folding his arms. “Aye, well, quite a bit, as it happens. Me mum was born there.”  
  
Jack stared blankly at him. Blinked twice. “No. Not Wales,” he said, waving away the word with a palm, before using the same palm to swim through the air between them. “Whales!”  
  
Gibbs' face fell. “Oh.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“In that case, now that ye ask... not very much.”  
  
Jack threw an arm up to catch Gibbs' shoulder, and gestured out to sea with the other hand. “What I have in mind to recapture the _Pearl_ might bear some resemblance to a rather well-known story. The story of Jonah, as a matter of fact.”  
  
Gibbs smiled again, nodding. “Think I know that one. Bible chap. Fancy coat. Lots o' brothers?”  
  
Jack's forehead wrinkled, and he patted Gibbs' shoulder consolingly. “Well. Close enough. Anyway, some way or other, Jonah wound up on a ship, out to sea.”  
  
“With his twin brother.”  
  
“Why not, eh? And there was a great storm, and all the fishermen were very afraid. And to placate the sea gods-“  
  
“Jack, this _is_ a Bible story, isn't it?”  
  
“-To save themselves, the fishermen - his brother - whoever - well, they fed Jonah to a great fish, and he was swallowed whole.”  
  
“Mercy! I'd forgotten that part of it.”  
  
“Quite right. And it was horrible- the stench of a thousand rotting corpses, et cetera. Fate worse than death, some might say.”  
  
Jack removed his hat, for emphasis, and the two of them stood in silence for a moment.   
  
Minutes passed. Gibbs grew impatient. “Er, Jack?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Our Jonah?”  
  
“Oh, right. Well - somehow or other he got out-“  
  
“Somehow or other? Well how did he?”  
  
Jack scratched his head. “Can't remember precisely - although I think another ship come along and blasted the whale with its cannons-“  
  
“Jack, way back in those days, I don't think they _had_ -“  
  
Jack stopped him by clapping his arm tighter around his shoulders. “No matter - the _point_ is, he _did_ get out.”  
  
Jack regarded him quietly, and Gibbs stared back at him. “If there's some sort of connection to us now, Cap'n, I'm afraid to say I'm missing it.”  
  
Jack looked at Gibbs pityingly. “It's all metaphor, Mr. Gibbs. We can't defeat the _Pearl_ , as we are - no. But, suppose we allow ourselves to be captured by her - swallowed whole, as it were. Then, when the time is right-“ Jack raised a fist, lantern light glinting off his rings. “-we strike.”  
  
Gibbs smiled at this, but after a moment, he looked concerned. “But er - Jack, doesn't that mean we'll lose this ship? Some of the crew, at least? Seems a bit foolhardy to me, and we certainly can't let anyone hear about it - or else...” Gibbs turned to scan the darkness over their shoulders.  
  
Jack was undeterred. “Now listen here, Mr. Gibbs. Courage is needed. We must conquer our fears. You must understand -keeping this, of course, strictly between us - that I want the _Pearl_ , I mean to have her, at any cost - and I will sacrifice this ship and crew to do it.”  
  
Gibbs looked worried, glancing into the dark behind them. “Ah - Jack - “  
  
“No protests,” Jack said. “If it takes one ship, two ships, crewmen, I shall have my ship back. I swear it. I know it seems a grim price, to allow ourselves to be taken-“  
  
“ _Jack_ -“  
  
“But it'll be _worth_ it, don't you see? You and I shall have the _Pearl_ , and damn the rest of them! Eh?” He whacked Gibbs playfully on the arm. “Eh? What do you say?”  
  
Gibbs said nothing, but lifted his chin to indicate Jack should turn around. Jack swung around, his forearms outstretched and fingers pinched. Behind them stood a dozen or so ragged, exhausted-looking crewmen, some of whom had undoubtedly heard every word that had been said - and they looked, as Jack scanned their faces, rather angry about it.  
  
“Gents,” Jack said with a quick smile. “Let's consider this calmly, shall we? Let's be reasonable, like the intelligent men I know we are.”  
  
  
  
“Well, it was genteel of them to leave us rum,” Jack said, turning the bottle over in his hands, as the white wooden boat just big enough for him and Gibbs bobbed up and down on the waves. In the distance, the _Magic Dragon_ had adjusted course and her sails were almost gone over the horizon.  
  
“They left _me_ a pistol,” Gibbs said testily, turning that over in his hands, glaring at Jack in the morning sunlight. “Might be more useful, if ye ask me.”  
  
“Perhaps we could shoot a fish with it?” Jack said brightly, though his smile faded as Gibbs continued to glare.  
  
“Why not a whale,” Gibbs muttered.  
  
Jack rubbed his hands anxiously. “Look at the bright side. We've got our freedom. And we're alive and well, eh?”  
  
“For now,” Gibbs replied, fingering the pistol while fixing Jack with another blistering stare. Jack also had a pistol, with one shot - but he didn't think it was a good time to mention it.  
  
* *  
  
  
He hadn't had a use for the compass in years, but Jack figured that bobbing along in whatever direction the current took them might not give them the best chance for survival; he brought it out and opened it, and it pointed north. He turned it so that the needle fell over the _N_ , and then he thought: what we want - what _I_ want - is a ship.  
  
The compass spun and obediently indicated due east. Jack glanced over his shoulder. Well, that way lay the Caribbean - and, one might presume - many ships.   
  
All right, Jack thought. One thing at a time. First, we need rations. Water.  
  
The compass, clearly believing Jack blind as well as daft, spun in a lazy circle, indicating that - wherever one looked - water surrounded them.  
  
“Not _that_ kind o' water, you sadistic literalist,” Jack hissed at it, and thought harder: _Something to drink_.  
  
The compass stopped its lazy spinning, and pointed northeast; Jack glanced up. The bottle of rum - still two-thirds full - stood at his knee. Jack picked it up, moved it across the boat, and switched hands with the compass. The needle paused, and then slid over to northwest, following the bottle.  
  
“This thing's no bloody good at all,” he said to no one in particular, although Gibbs sat a few feet from him, facing away, out to sea.  
  
_Land_ , Jack thought, and the needle once again curved around, slowly, to due east. Then it moved again, and pointed west. It hovered there, shakily, as if to say, _You did know where the continents were, didn't you, Captain_?  
  
“Blast,” Jack muttered, and snapped it shut. Then, with sudden inspiration, he thought, the _closest_ ship. I want, more than anything, to find the _closest_ ship. He opened the lid, hesitantly.  
  
The needle pointed south-southwest, and when Jack moved, displacing the rum with his other hand, turning - it stayed fixed.  
  
It was a start.  
  
“Mr. Gibbs,” Jack said, and Gibbs turned his head to peer at him from beneath a furrowed grey brow. “I do think the time has come... to _row_.”  
  
  
* *  
  
“Say, Jack,” Gibbs said, after Jack had explained his newfound sense of direction, and they had rowed for a good hour, taking turns. “What if the closest ship is our ship? I mean, what if we're just followin' the _Magic Dragon_?”  
  
Jack came to a full stop, wide-eyed, mid-stroke. “Hadn't thought of that.”  
  
“Aye,” Gibbs continued. “We could be right behind them, and they'd be the only ship that wouldn't rescue us.”  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes, fingers tangling thoughtfully in his beard braids.  
  
Gibbs nodded toward the pouch that contained the compass. “Can't ye be more specific, like, the closest ship that _isn't_ ours, or some such?”  
  
“It's not really good with precision,” Jack answered. “Magic, not science. Supposed to be a gut-instinct sort of thing.”  
  
“Wherever did ye get it, anyway?”  
  
“From a witch,” Jack said matter-of-factly, picking up the oars again.   
  
“And what did it cost ye?” Gibbs said, lifting an eyebrow.  
  
Jack smiled as he began to row. “A night in her bed.” Then he frowned. “Or perhaps a month - or six. Hard to say - it all runs together.”  
  
Gibbs indicated the pouch again with his chin. “Why don't ye let me have a go?”  
  
Jack looked at Gibbs through eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What good'll that do?”  
  
Gibbs shrugged. “I dunno, perhaps a fresh set of eyes, er... hands?”  
  
Jack shook his head. “Sorry, mate. It's for me and me alone. I've never let anyone else near it.”  
  
Gibbs frowned. “Jack... I'm yer first mate, still, and I have to say, if ye can't trust yer first mate, who can ye trust?”  
  
“No one, and especially not a woman,” Jack replied, continuing to row.  
  
“Come on, why won't ye let me at least _see_ the damn thing?”  
  
“Because I don't like anyone seeing my thing! Things!”  
  
Gibbs furrowed his brow. “How do I know ye're not making it all up? Rowing along this way, keeping it up just so I don't shoot ye?”  
  
“Guess you'll have... to trust me,” Jack said, beginning to lose his breath as he rowed vigorously.  
  
“Me trust you, and you won't trust me?” Gibbs leaned angrily forward on his knees. “What kind o' logic is that?”  
  
Jack thrust the oars violently toward Gibbs. “Mate, it's your turn to row.”  
  
“What's that?” Gibbs said, his head snapping up.  
  
“I said-“  
  
“No,” Gibbs said, pointing over Jack's shoulder. “What's _that_?”  
  
Jack followed Gibbs' finger and cast his gaze on the horizon, where - unless they were both seeing things, and after only a day at sea that was unlikely - there was, in the distance, what seemed to be a ship.  
  
Gibbs cupped his hands around his face, trying to see better. “Blessed Mother, I'd trade me eyes for a spyglass right about now,” he said.  
  
“That wouldn't make much sense, now would it?” Jack said drolly, leaning back on an elbow and squinting. “Can you see what kind of a ship it is?”  
  
“It's a _metaphor_ ,” Gibbs growled, half listening.   
  
Jack blinked. “Never heard of one of those. How many masts?”  
  
“Three, ye bleedin' idiot. It's a frigate.”  
  
“Thought you said it was a-“  
  
“Blast, Jack, we're gettin' closer, and I think I caught a glimpse of the colors.”  
  
Jack had crossed his fingers and was whispering, _Not Navy, not Navy, not Navy_ , under his breath.  
  
“Royal Navy,” Gibbs said, and lowered his hands, looking at Jack, who had his eyes squeezed shut. “Jack. We'd best row back the way we come.”  
  
Jack's eyes shot open. “What? Are you daft?”  
  
“ _Me_?”  
  
“All right, so they're probably hunting for pirates. So what? We go on board, we plead mercy, we say we're poor merchants who were _left_ out here by pirates, eh? Which wouldn't be so far from the truth.”  
  
Gibbs regarded Jack with something like pity. “Jack... even I could pull off such a thing - having served in the Navy meself - just to look at ye, you're _obviously_ a pirate.”  
  
Jack wrinkled his nose. “What are you talking about? I'll just get rid of some this...”  
  
Gibbs sighed. “The brand.”  
  
“I'll cover it.”  
  
“The rags? The scarves?”  
  
“Au revoir. Into the ocean.”  
  
“The dirt?”  
  
“Little dip in salt water'll clear that away. And perhaps some of the smell.”  
  
“The _hair_ , Jack.”  
  
Jack pinched a lock between his fingers. “Might seem a bit odd for a merchant, but I'll say I'm from... wherever. Somewhere else. _You_ tell them I don't speak English. I'll just smile pleasantly, and you talk.”  
  
“The gold teeth?”  
  
Jack ran his tongue over them instinctively. “I'll keep my mouth closed.”  
  
Gibbs exhaled a scoff through his teeth, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Now that's just bloody impossible.”  
  
Jack leaned forward to grab Gibbs by both arms. “All right, no matter - we can't let them pass. This could be our only chance, mate!”  
  
“Our only chance to be hanged, you mean!”  
  
Jack leapt to his feet, and the boat wobbled precariously, as he began to wave his arms frantically in the direction of the ship.   
  
“No!” Gibbs yelled, grabbing hold of his baldric to yank him back down into the boat. “ _Jack!_ I'll kill ye, I swear on me mum's warts!”  
  
“Well then, between almost-certain eventual death and most-certain immediate death, I'll almost certainly take the former!” Jack struggled against him, the boat rocking violently from side to side. “Hallo-o-o!” Jack called at the top of his lungs, failing to free himself from a furious Gibbs, who was attempting to make him sit down and stop flailing.  
  
In the next moment they were both under water. They surfaced at the same time, Gibbs sputtering as he contorted his body to draw the pistol from his waist. Jack watched him, treading water with difficulty in his boots.  
  
Gibbs aimed the pistol at Jack. “Wonder if it'll still fire, or if it's soaked through?”  
  
Jack withdrew his own, watching as Gibbs' eyes widened in surprise. He cocked it, aiming it back at Gibbs. “Only one way to find out. Eh?”  
  
The two men regarded each other for a moment, finding it increasingly difficult to aim at each other and swim properly, and out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed their boat - and the ship - floating farther away.   
  
“Is this how you want to die, Joshamee Gibbs? Is it?” Jack yelled, shaking the pistol madly. “Here, in the ocean, like a dog?”  
  
“Er... how many dogs you reckon actually die in the ocean, Jack?” Gibbs replied after a pause, and then the madness passed and he lowered his pistol, and Jack swore and lowered his, and then two of them swam toward the little white boat that had overturned. They clambered atop it with their arms, staring at the ship in the distance. After a quick glance to the side, Jack caught up the bottle of rum in his right palm as it floated past. He uncorked it, took a swig, and passed it to Gibbs, who also took a deep draught, and re-corked the bottle.  
  
Gibbs looked at Jack; looked at the pistol; looked at the ship. “God damn you, Jack Sparrow.”  
  
“Captain; and while truer words were never spoken, now, how's about we discover if that pistol still fires?”  
  
“Mine or yours?”  
  
“Yours. I've only got one shot, and I'm saving it.”  
  
Gibbs frowned at him as he nodded, lifting the pistol and aiming upward. “One shot? Really? And what if ye miss?”  
  
“I assure you, mate, I never-“   
  
The pistol shot was loud; it seemed to echo and travel over the sea water as it rang in their ears. After two tense minutes, during which Gibbs and Jack managed to right the boat and land gracelessly inside plus the rum, it was clear the frigate was headed toward them.   
  
  
The H.M.S. _Janus_ was possessed of one of the more spacious brigs Jack had been in; there was room enough for he and Gibbs to stretch out their legs as they sat, opposite one another, on the floor. It was damp in places but Jack had yet to see a rat. He surmised that the ship hadn't been long out of port, or the brig would be more crowded, with rats and pirates alike.  
  
They'd been stripped of their weapons, of course, and the rum. A crewman had appeared to thrust through the bars a small canteen, which seemed to contain a weak sort of grog; they'd shared it.   
  
It became quite dark after sunset, as no lamps were lit below, and the moonlight outside was not strong. Jack's stomach growled, and Gibbs' stomach answered it.  
  
“Which d'ye think is worse, Jack,” Gibbs said in the dark, “dyin' o' hunger or bein' hanged by the neck?”  
  
“I would think hunger, more drawn-out, painful and so on... but not having done either, I can't say for certain.”  
  
A noise startled them; a shaft of light spread in a wedge across the floor, and there were footfalls on the steps. Jack struggled to his feet, to see a uniformed officer - coat, wig and all - approaching them, carrying a lantern - and several pieces of bread.  
  
“Ah - supper,” Jack said with a smile. “If you'd have let us know, we'd have come and gotten it ourselves.”  
  
The man stopped, and in the light, Jack could make out even features, and large, astute eyes. Gray, unless Jack missed his guess. “Gentlemen,” he said in a brandy-smooth tenor voice, “I'm Captain Bell.”  
  
“I know who you are,” Jack said, just as Gibbs echoed, “Gentlemen?!”  
  
“Care for a bit of bread?” the man said, and held it just out of Jack's reach.  
  
“I get it,” Jack said. “What do you want?”  
  
“Information,” said Bell. “We are currently in pursuit of pirates and other perpetrators of illegal activities in these waters.”  
  
“Say that ten times fast,” Gibbs muttered, but quieted after Jack's boot met his shin.  
  
“What is it - and I'm not saying I know anything - that you think we know?”  
  
Bell paused, smiling a small smile. “You're pirates. You came from somewhere - a ship, I presume, since you didn't fall from the sky. I also gather you found yourself at odds with the crew on said ship, and perhaps would not be averse to aiding in their capture?”  
  
“The _Dragon_ ,” Jack said without hesitation. “Fifty men or so. Lightly armed. Sailing from Singapore under the orders of Sao Feng.”  
  
Bell smiled. “I'm so glad you've decided to cooperate,” he said, as he handed Jack a piece of bread. “There is another ship we've been pursuing, as well.”  
  
“Hasn't got black sails, has she?” Jack said through a mouthful of bread, as he tore off half the piece and handed it to Gibbs.  
  
Bell narrowed his eyes. “Why, no. That would be a different ship, I think, and a different story.”  
  
“I'll bet,” Jack replied.  
  
“I'm interested in a ship called - formerly, anyway - the _Nassau Trader_ , now in the hands of pirates. She's been sighted in these waters as recently as a week ago. You wouldn't happen to know it?”  
  
“Can't say that I do, Captain,” Jack said, eyeing the remaining bread. “Perhaps I'm simply too famished to think properly.”  
  
Bell tilted his head to one side, sizing up Jack's expression. “You have useful information on this vessel?”  
  
“As I said, can't remember a thing.” Jack waved the fingers of both hands at Bell. “Too hungry.”  
  
“In that case,” Bell said, with a disdainful look at both men, “I shall return in the morning. I do hope to find you in better condition?” He tossed the remaining hunk of bread through the bars; Gibbs caught it an inch off the floor, and turned to glare at Bell.  
  
“Bid you good night, gentlemen,” Bell said, and took the lantern as he ascended the stairs.  
  
Gibbs ripped the stale bread in half, handing a piece to Jack. “Right nice of you to give up those lads on the _Dragon_ , Jack. They're not even pirates.”  
  
“'Course not,” Jack said, attempting to chew the tough bread. “A fact which will become quite obvious should we encounter them. Don't think they'll be in for a hanging, long as they play along.”  
  
“We, on the other hand,” Gibbs muttered, chewing and swallowing.  
  
“Yes,” Jack replied, chewing pensively.  
  
“And this _Nassau Trader_?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“Name rang a bell, no pun intended,” Jack said, “but I can't place it just now. Never fear - by tomorrow morning I'll make up something.”  
  
“Oh, well, that's a relief,” Gibbs said bitterly, swallowing the last of their meal.  
  
Jack leaned his head back against the wall; he heard a scuttling and scratching noise, and glanced down to see a rat's tail sweeping along amidst the crumbs. “Shoo,” he told it, before exhaustion claimed him and he slept.  
  
  
  
“Gory Theodore,” Jack said as his eyes flew open. “That's the bloke's name. Ol' Teddy Hamilton captured that ship.”  
  
Early morning light poured through the small porthole in their cell; Gibbs snored loudly, shoulder and head propped against the opposite wall. Jack shifted and sat up, stiffly, certain that every muscle he possessed was tied in knots.  
  
By the time he heard someone on the stairs, Jack had been awake for five minutes; it was long enough to formulate a plan. A rather risky one, perhaps, one others might dub a crazy scheme, but five minutes and his own brain were the only resources available.  
  
“Well,” said a voice Jack immediately recognized as Bell's, “I do hope a good night's sleep and some nourishment has bolstered your memory.” It was Bell himself, again, accompanied by only one crewman, who held a small flask. Bell's gray eyes caught the sunlight and seemed to sparkle silver, two blades unsheathed and held at the ready. Jack found it unsettling, but he cleared his throat and stood. Gibbs shifted, muttering as he woke.   
  
“What's my reward?” Jack said with a small, menacing smile, angling his head toward the flask.  
  
“Rum,” Bell said, raising two dark gray brows. There was a pause. “Well?”  
  
Jack leaned casually against the bars. “What is it you want to know?”  
  
“Everything, of course.” Bell smiled a dignified smile. Jack had the impression he was quite smart, and there was an air of nobility about him; probably some lord's second son out to make a name for himself in the service of the throne.   
  
“Starting with?”  
  
“Her captain.”  
  
“One Theodore Hamilton.” Jack paused, assessing Bell's expression. It remained unchanged; if he'd heard the name before, he gave no indication. Jack waved a hand as he went on. “Greedy chap, standard pirate, not very brave or very smart. Prefers to run rather than stand and fight - far as the ship goes - and she's no match for this one. Haphazardly armed, slow, not terribly well constructed. Shall I go on?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Probably hiding out somewhere near Four Feathers. You know it?”  
  
“Not... as such.”  
  
“It's an island with four spits of land that jut out across it from both sides, making the harbor useless to any big ships, slavers or ships of the line alike - but it's quite nice for little ol' pirates like us. Like them, I mean. Course that last bit is pure speculation, but I daresay she'd make a nice prize for a frig like this. Maybe even some prize money for the crew, little gold to send home to His Majesty, or...” Jack spread his fingers in a careless ripple. “...whoever.”  
  
Bell's eyes were sparkling with anticipation. He took a breath, slowly, without taking his gaze from Jack. “Very good,” he said finally, and gestured for the flask to be given over. Jack took it through the bars.  
  
“Anything else... Captain?” Jack said, and false humility dripped ironically from every syllable.  
  
Bell smiled. “No, I don't think so. Since you've cooperated, you shall be fed today.” He turned to go, climbing several steps before turning suddenly. “Oh, yes - one more thing. If I discover you've lied about anything at all, I shall see to it that you are disposed of immediately.” He smiled without any warmth, but gave a cheery wave. “Good day!”  
  
When he and the crewman had gone, Gibbs climbed to his feet, grumbling. “Friendly chap, isn't he?”  
  
Jack passed him the rum, not having had any; it was a bit too early, still. Apparently Navymen thought pirates relished the thought of rum at breakfast. Gibbs, notwithstanding, took a swig before turning to face Jack.  
  
“So... let me make sure I understand this proper. Ye're sending them into battle with Gory Teddy.”  
  
Jack avoided the question and Gibbs' gaze by turning away from the bars and taking a step toward the window. “Y'know, I don't think he likes to be called that.”  
  
“Well, that ain't going to matter much when they're blasting the stuffing out of us! You know damn well that ship is big and fast and well-armed, and Gory Ted's one of the most bloodthirsty pirates I've ever met!” Gibbs said, following Jack's turned back.   
  
“It'll be a chance to escape,” Jack said, looking out the tiny window at the level of his chin.   
  
“Oh, is that so? And supposing he blows enough holes in this poor man's warship to sink her straight, and the two of us locked up down here in the brig? Then what?”  
  
Jack spread his hands and smiled a fierce smile. “Well - then we needn't worry about dying of hunger or hanging, do we? I hear drowning's a nicer way to go.”  
  
Gibbs stared at Jack. “Given, o' course, that Cap'n Ding-Dong doesn't shoot us first.”  
  
“Right. Naturally. Though I'd presume by the time we're actually under attack, it'd be a bit late to shoot us.”  
  
Gibbs was accustomed, by this time, to Jack's particular brand of madness; he could think of no alternative, and so he drew up beside Jack to peer out the hole that served as a window.  
  
“Four Feathers,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sending him right into the lion's mouth, you are. Never was a better spot for an ambush.”  
  
Jack chuckled, taking a sip of rum. “It'll be something to see Hamilton again.”  
  
“Friend of yours?” Gibbs said hopefully.  
  
Jack thought about the money he'd cheated Teddy out of in the past, the good crewmen Jack had won over to his own ship, the prizes he'd beaten Teddy to and then gloated over. The last time he'd seen him - in Tortuga, eight years before - an enraged Gory Theodore Hamilton had chased Jack out of a tavern wielding an arm-length piece of wood with a rusty nail on the end. “Sure, you could say that,” Jack said, smiling reassuringly.   
  
  
  
In the twilight Jack could make out the vague outline of land; they'd slowed, and he thought he could hear, indistinctly, what might be the sound of the anchor going down. Undoubtedly Bell was waiting for nightfall to approach Four Feathers, as not to be seen.   
  
He and Gibbs dozed again for a few hours. In Jack's dream there was an explosion; he opened his eyes and felt the ship tilt.  
  
“What was that?” said Gibbs, and Jack leapt up to peer out the window.  
  
“Never thought I'd announce this with any degree of pleasure,” Jack said casually, “but - we seem to be under attack.”  
  
The _Janus_ was returning fire; through the smoke and in the light of the bursts of gunpowder, Jack could make out the shape of the other ship. It was too dark to tell for sure, but he hoped it was the _Trader_. Or whatever Hamilton was calling it these days.  
  
The screams of men reached them, from above; Jack and Gibbs exchanged uneasy glances. It was then that the hull seemed to rush toward them from the outside in a deafening roar; wood flew and Jack and Gibbs flung themselves to the floor. When it had quieted, Jack lifted his head just in time to see a small shard of wood loosen itself and fall directly onto Gibbs' forehead, bounce and hit the floor.   
  
“Bloody _hell_ ,” Gibbs said, rubbing his temple. “Jack? All right?”  
  
“Aye.” They got up; Jack glanced at the bars that held them prisoner, then turned around, and was delighted to see that part of the hull had been blown away. “Mr. Gibbs,” he said, pointing.  
  
“Oh - that's good,” he replied.  
  
“ _Very_ good,” Jack said, giving a splintered piece a swift kick. It fell away with a creak, and Gibbs clapped him on the back. Jack poked his head out, and could just make out some hanging lines that could be climbed.  
  
“Well, looks like drowning's out,” Gibbs said brightly. “Only leaves shooting and hanging.”  
  
“Don't forget hunger,” Jack said as they scrambled out the hole.  
  
  
The booms of the cannons and the shouts of the officers drowned out the sound of the two men bracing their feet on the hull as they climbed, and the smoke cloaked them well by the time they reached the deck. They hid close to the ground, by the stern rail, while Jack peeked in order to ascertain the identity of the attacking ship, and the progress of the battle.  
  
“We're about to be boarded,” Jack concluded as he saw the other ship pulling up alongside. On its deck he could see sixty or so fearsome-looking pirates, well-armed with cutlasses and pistols alike.   
  
Captain Bell was shouting orders for the men to form a line, fix bayonets and otherwise prepare themselves.  
  
“Jack,” Gibbs said, sounding worried. “Which side will they think we're on?”  
  
Jack turned to him with an exasperated look on his face. “Why, neither, of course. Assuming the pirates win, we're with them.”  
  
Any further discussion was rendered impossible by the battle cries of the pirates as they swung aboard; some were shot, some were cut down immediately, but others followed. A man fell, open-mouthed, on the deck close to Jack, his pistol falling from his outstretched hand.  
  
A pair of fighters soon approached the spot where Jack and Gibbs hid; a small, thin pirate with a large hat battled valiantly against a much larger soldier. He had the pirate nearly cornered, and though the smaller man fought well with the sword, he was outmatched for size and force. As they turned toward Jack, an explosion on deck cast light on the pirate's face, and Jack swore.   
  
“Jack?” Gibbs said as Jack stood up, snatching up the pistol that had fallen on the deck. He cocked it and aimed it at the soldier, and just when the man managed to get in close to the pirate, close enough to deal a blow - Jack shot him from the side, and the man fell.   
  
The pirate looked up from beneath the brim of the hat while picking up a sword from the deck. “Jack Sparrow?” the pirate said, and then Anamaria was closing the gap between them and catching him roughly by the front of his shirt. “You... you're supposed to be _dead_ ,” she spat fiercely, releasing him when she had convinced herself he wasn't an apparition.  
  
Jack smiled. “An' it's lovely to see you too, darling,” he said as he caught the sword she tossed to him, and the two of them turned their backs to one another and took on opponents as they came.   
  
“How long you been sailing with Teddy?” Jack said, dueling ably with a young soldier before losing patience and knocking him out with a punch.   
  
“Eight years,” Ana replied, dealing a kick to one soldier and a brutal slice with her sword to another's hand, disarming him.  
  
“You're his... what, confidante? Paramour?” Jack asked, hitting one soldier in the nose with his elbow and following the motion forward to punch another.   
  
Ana felled two men with her cutlass before she turned and stuck the bloodied point under Jack's chin. “ _Paramour_? I'm his first _mate_ ,” she yelled in his face before she whirled to face another soldier.  
  
“Course you are,” Jack said more to himself, brushing away a drop of his own blood with his thumb from beneath his chin as he lunged forward with the sword.  
  
“Where were _you_ all that time?” Ana howled over the din as she caught a soldier's extended arm, pulling him as she turned to smash his head into the deck rail.  
  
“Singapore,” Jack called back, landing a kick to a soldier's stomach, and when he doubled over, a knee to the face and a strike to the back of the neck. The man sprawled flat on the deck.  
  
“What were you doing there?” Ana said, her back landing solidly against Jack's as they both were approached by soldiers with swords.  
  
“Opium,” said Jack without hesitation, and as Ana took down her man with a firm lunge at his midsection, Jack drew the pistol and shot his opponent. He turned the empty pistol around and used the butt to dispatch another nearby soldier.  
  
Jack turned, and saw Ana fighting passionately against a blonde officer, her sword glinting through the smoke. He also saw another man approaching from the side. “Ana,” he called in warning.  
  
“I can handle myself, Jack,” she yelled, turning farther away from the second man.  
  
“Ana! Behind you!”  
  
She turned; met the second man's sword with a swift block, but was forced to withdraw to block the first, the officer who was redoubling his efforts. She was perhaps ten feet away; Jack was halfway there when a blue and white uniform stepped in front of him.  
  
“You're a dead man, Sparrow,” Bell said, brandishing a long, fine-looking sword.  
  
“I don't know why everyone keeps saying that,” Jack replied, raising his own sword. “How about a call for surrender? Save a few of your men's lives?”  
  
Bell spat on the deck. “You expect me to believe these pirates would spare my men?”  
  
“I''ll put in a good word for you, mate,” Jack said, attempting to sidestep Bell. The officer blocked his path.  
  
“I'm not interested in any more of your lies,” Bell growled, continuing to stand in Jack's way. “You've cost me my ship.”  
  
“Oh! It's over and done, then? Well, why not surrender?”  
  
“Because I can still cut a few pirate throats,” Bell said. “And yours will be the first.”  
  
“Oh, here we go,” Jack said in a bored tone as he blocked Bell's first lunging blow. Jack continued to parry and block, edging his way around Bell. “You know - I find it odd that you'd rather try to kill me than try to save your own life. Seems like twisted logic. Why don't you second sons do something safe and pleasant, like enter the priesthood?”  
  
Bell ignored him, slicing high and then low, and Jack blocked the first but was slow to get the second. Bell's sword was stopped only an inch from Jack's abdomen.   
  
“Enough,” Jack said, and backed away, toward where Ana still fought, holding his sword in a straight line from chin to hip. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw she had gotten down the second man but was still struggling with the officer. He turned back to land a solid punch to Bell's chin, and he fell to the deck.  
  
Just then, the pirate captain swept in.   
  
Gory Theodore Hamilton was tall, thin, and elegantly dressed for a pirate - too elegantly, in Jack's opinion - and his tunic was ornamented with gleaming gold and silver threads, his boots polished and buckled. He was possessed of a nose hooked as a cutlass, and hair that clung in slimy silver strands to his neck and chin. He seemed to come out of nowhere - the best pirates often did - and surprised the officer who dueled with Ana, piercing his heart from the back with one seemingly effortless thrust of his long, shiny sword.  
  
“Ana, my dear, are you hurt?” he said after the officer had fallen, extending both hands toward his first mate's shoulders.  
  
“Fine... captain,” she said, brushing his hands away and spitting on the deck.  
  
Hamilton looked up; his eyes found Jack, and narrowed. “Jack... Sparrow?”  
  
Jack grinned. “Teddy! Old friend.”  
  
Hamilton gave a tightlipped smile. “You're alive, hm?” The smile vanished in an instant. “We'll fix that - someone get me a rusty sword.”  
  
A roar of rage reached Jack's ears from behind, and he turned just in time to block a furious Bell, who had no doubt just watched another friend fall. “Surrender,” Jack hissed at him, as he blocked again and then struck back. “Surrender, and he might leave some alive.”  
  
It was clear that the night's battle had gone to the pirates; the _Janus_ was listing badly to port and many men's bodies littered her deck. A yardarm cracked, split and crashed to the deck nearby; still Bell pursued Jack as he retreated towards the stern.  
  
“Why are you fighting _me_?” Jack said to Bell, cocking his head toward Hamilton as he blocked left and right. “ _He's_ the one who attacked you! Go after _him_!”  
  
“He's next,” Bell said calmly, and with a flick of wrist and elbow, plunged the point of his sword into Jack's side.  
  
The pain was a surprise; Jack bent, reflexively, just for a second. His hand went to his side, and that was when he realized he'd done the unthinkable: he'd dropped his sword on the deck.  
  
A fast punch from Bell snapped Jack's head back; another knocked him to his knees. He was still stunned, feeling warm blood ooze through his fingers, fast, too fast, and he was trying to think of what to do next, when he looked up and saw Bell lower the tip of the sword to his throat.  
  
Jack looked up at him with blurred vision. “Make it quick, then,” Jack said. “Unless you're planning to bore me to death with more of your moralizing speeches.”  
  
One moment Bell was pulling his elbow back to deal a lethal blow to Jack's neck; the next he had toppled over, crumpling with a crash to the deck. Jack's gaze flew up to see Gibbs, four-foot piece of yardarm in his hands, grinning like a madman.  
  
“Careful, Jack,” Gibbs said, dropping the wood and extending a hand which Jack grasped gratefully. “For a moment there I thought you were...” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Jack's bloodied hand, and then saw the dark stain on the side of Jack's shirt and tunic. “Oh... Lord.”  
  
“It's not so bad. I've had worse,” Jack said quickly as Gibbs tried to pull him to his feet. Except Jack's feet wouldn't support him, and he bent over and nearly fell down again, finding after a minute that Gibbs had slipped one of Jack's arms around his neck. His side hurt and he knew he'd already lost a lot of blood, and it made him feel worse.  
  
Jack began to feel nauseated. They were moving across the deck, slowly, picking their way around split boards and fallen men, and then there was someone at his right side, too, helping Gibbs drag him along.   
  
Then Gory Ted was right in front of them, and he was addressing Jack's right armpit.  
  
“What do you think? Twenty survivors.”  
  
“They found Four Feathers,” responded a tense woman's voice. Ana. She was there, she was helping Jack stand up. “That is what worries me. Perhaps we should kill them all.”  
  
“It's - “ Jack coughed, his throat feeling exceptionally dry. “It's time to pack up shop, if you ask me. If they're the first Navy ship to stumble upon it, they won't be the last. I say we concern ourselves with getting out of there, and leave the men be. Makes no difference.”  
  
Hamilton fixed Jack with what he thought was a furious glare - he couldn't be sure, as it was dark and the deck was spinning. “Who asked you? And who said we'd take you on board? I say we leave you here to die among your Navy friends.”  
  
“No,” said Ana, and then Teddy glared at _her_.  
  
“No? And why not?”  
  
“He fought with us,” Ana insisted.   
  
“Did he?” Hamilton replied, casting one more scathing glance at Jack. “Take everything of value,” he told another pirate who stood nearby. “Weapons, rations, everything.” He then turned on his heel to stride off down the deck. “When everything's loaded, burn it,” he said quietly over his shoulder to another, continuing to walk.  
  
“Aye, Cap'n,” the man said.  
  
“Tell 'em to jump,” Jack mumbled to no one in particular. “Jump off an' swim to the island. Only chance they have. Tell 'em...”  
  
“Hush now, Jack,” Gibbs said, and Jack realized they were alone, and he was being lowered into a boat.   
  
“Where's... Ana,” Jack said, seeing the sky was beginning to lighten. Everything was doubled and foggy and hazy and his side hurt a lot and he was tired.  
  
“She's followin' yer orders,” Gibbs whispered in an amused tone, and Jack turned his head to see a small, distant figure next to a soldier at the stern of the broken, smoking _Janus_ , and just before Jack passed out, he thought it seemed like Ana was gesturing with her sword toward the dawn.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  
He woke to the sound of a door opening and closing, and struggled to open his eyes. His right eye wouldn't open properly, and when he probed it with a finger, he found it tender.  
  
“Don't do that! Leave it alone,” came a sharp reprimand. Light flickered; a lamp was lit. Jack could make out Ana's silhouette in front of the light. She was setting down a bowl and rag on a small table, in a room not much bigger than an armoire.  
  
“Where am I?” he croaked, and cleared his throat.  
  
“My cabin,” she answered quickly, and the defensive note was back in her voice; no hesitation, no nonsense.   
  
Jack tried to smile as he glanced around. “Right. First mate.”  
  
She seated herself beside him, and Jack realized he was naked to the waist; the rag was cool and wet and he groaned as she laid it first on his forehead, and then washed methodically the rest of his chest and stomach. “Still no fever,” she said, almost to herself. “That's good, at least.”  
  
“I think this is the first time I've ever been bathed by a pirate,” Jack managed, noting his throat was very dry.  
  
“Actually, it's the third,” Ana replied, continuing to mop at his chest, his sides. “The first two times you were unconscious.”   
  
“Twice already? Did I smell so terrible?”  
  
“Once here. Once in Tortuga, at the inn. Eight years ago - as I said, you were unconscious.” At his amused look, she stopped moistening his chest to pick up a small flask from beside the bed; she uncorked it and held it to his lips. “Drink,” she commanded, and he drank.  
  
Grog, with lots of rum. It tasted terrible, but it was wet, and Jack swallowed it gratefully until Ana removed it.   
  
“Thank you,” he said, squinting down at his bandaged torso. “Well, doctor, am I going to live?”  
  
“Unfortunately, yes,” Ana said, and when Jack lifted his gaze to her face, he could swear he saw the hint of a smile.  
  
“What's wrong with my eye?” Jack asked next, and Ana leaned over to pick up the silver flask again. She held it in front of his face so he could see his reflection.  
  
“It's all black,” she said. “Well - blacker than usual.”  
  
Jack examined his injured eye, swollen to the size of a chicken's egg, and just as round and shiny, but purplish black. “Bugger and a half,” he said, setting the flask aside. “How'm I ever going to seduce you looking like this?”  
  
“You're not,” Ana snapped, and dropped the rag with a _plop_ back in the bowl.  
  
“Was only jesting,” Jack muttered.  
  
She did not respond, but stood and balled her fists on her hips. “I need to check the wound,” she told him. “See if it's weeping. I'd let you check it yourself, but I don't think you can see too well at the moment.”  
  
“All right,” Jack said, and she leaned over to unwrap the bandages. Her tan fingers brushed his lower stomach and a ripple shot through the muscles there; she paused, not looking at him. “Go on, love, nothing personal,” he assured her with only a hint of teasing.  
  
He heard a sort of exasperated sigh and then she was pulling the bandage down and holding the lantern over it to see the condition. In another moment she had re-dressed the wound and returned the lamp to the table.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Looks all right. You have the luck of the devil himself, Jack Sparrow.”  
  
“Don't I know it,” he said, and as she crossed to the door, he added, “How long have I been here?”  
  
“A day and a half.”  
  
“If I'm in here, Ana, where've you been sleeping?”  
  
She gave a restrained, yet half-sultry, smile as she opened the door; “You ask too many questions. Get some rest, Jack,” she said before she closed it behind her.  
  
  
  
He woke when he felt the weight in the bed shift; he blinked his eyes open and saw two stocking-clad feet nestled into the pillow beside his head. He lifted his head, and in the bit of light that emerged from the crack under the door, he could see Ana, tossing her hat aside, gathering some kind of bundle of canvas to serve as a pillow at the foot of the bed.  
  
“What's the hour?” he asked her, and she seemed surprised that he was awake, but yawned and turned on her side.   
  
“Just after midnight. I'm on watch again in the morning, so I should rest now.” After a moment Ana propped herself up on an elbow, peering at him across the length of the bed. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Bit better, I think.”  
  
“Oh. That's good. Soon I'll have my bed to myself again.”  
  
“Provided I let you,” Jack quipped, for which he received an immediate kick to the head. “Ow.”  
  
“Jack,” Ana said when it had been quiet for a few minutes, “what happened to the _Lotus Gloria_?”  
  
Images flashed across Jack's mind. Smoke. Fire. Alberts' blood.   
  
“Jack?”  
  
“We lost her, that's what happened. We were attacked.”  
  
“Alberts?”  
  
“Dead, bless his damn fool soul.”  
  
There was a pause before Ana spoke again. “I thought it would be some time before I saw the ship again - a year, maybe two, but as time went on... no one heard anything. Only a rumor that she sank off of Zanzibar, and no one survived.”  
  
“Not true,” said Jack. “There were at least a dozen of us made it to Singapore.”  
  
Ana sat up, as though suddenly remembering something. “The girl! The little girl?”  
  
“Easter's fine. Took her with me.” He lifted a hand incrementally. “All grown up, now.”  
  
“She was taken care of?”  
  
“Oh, yes. Grew into a lovely - if somewhat bull-headed - young woman, who took quite a liking to me - never did figure why.”  
  
There was a pause, and Jack could feel Ana's gaze boring a hole in his forehead. “Jack,” she said in a low, menacing voice. “You didn't.”  
  
Jack's eyes widened and he met Ana's look. “No,” he said indignantly, “as a matter of fact, _I didn't._ ”  
  
Ana sighed, relaxing back against her makeshift pillow, crossing her feet. “And so? What happened to the rest of them?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Ana turned her head to one side, her dark eyes just visible over the bridge of her nose. “Jack... no one who left on the _Lotus Gloria_ with you and Alberts was ever heard from again.”  
  
“Strange, since a bunch of them were alive and well enough to set sail from Singapore. I just wasn't with them.”  
  
“They never made it back.”  
  
“Well, why not?”  
  
“I don't know. Could be anything. Storm, disease, Navy... I don't know.”  
  
Jack digested this, staring morosely into the darkness. “Should have gone along, I s'pose.”  
  
“Then you'd be dead, too.”  
  
“Maybe I would be. Not to anyone's great dismay, it seems, 'cept for my own, of course.”  
  
“I'm not certain of that.”  
  
“Oh?” Jack said, smiling a small smile.  
  
“You might be missed. Mr. Gibbs would be without his captain,” she said, and he thought he heard a teasing note in her voice. For Ana, that was a joke.  
  
They fell asleep; just before eight bells she got up, and she made Jack get up, too, and walk around, which he protested to a large degree at first but realized was not as difficult as he had thought. With an arm around Ana's shoulders, the thinly clothed curve of her breast nestled against his chest, her animated eyes every so often displaying a bit of concern for his well-being, Jack felt better than he had in ages.  
  
  
  
Since he could get out of bed, he was promptly evicted from Ana's cabin and put to use; his reading and writing skills were useful in taking inventory of their supplies, and he sat with his booted feet propped on a barrel, supervising, while some younger crew members ran around the hold and reported back to him.   
  
“Still four barrels of rum,” said Simmons, a large lad with a dark ponytail, trailed by his companion, a tawny-haired young man by the name of Black.   
  
“Excellent,” Jack said, making a note of the quantity, and instructing them to go and survey the rations.   
  
“Wonder if the Cap'n's pearl is down here somewhere,” Simmons said as they strolled toward the stacks of crates.  
  
“Don't be silly - a treasure like that he'll be keeping in his cabin,” Black replied, and then they were out of Jack's earshot - but Jack's eyes had gone bright and wide as pieces of eight.  
  
Food and liquids helped restore him to strength as the ship - the _Nassau Traitor_ , as it was now called, apparently a clever whim of Hamilton's - made its way to Tortuga. It was clear to Jack that they'd packed up the emergency supplies and weapons from Four Feathers, and were prepared not to return; now that it had been found, they would also spread the word among other pirates that it was known to the Navy. Jack felt a trifle guilty, but didn't let it bother him for long. There were older, bigger and better pirate strongholds in the world.  
  
“What do you know about a pearl?” Jack said quietly to Gibbs one evening below decks, checking around them for eavesdroppers.   
  
“You've heard it too, I see,” Gibbs answered, and glanced over his shoulder before whispering, “Rumor has it ol' Ted Hamilton stole himself a rare sort of pearl, from some merchant ship that was making its way from Asia. It's supposed to be very valuable. Sacred, maybe even possessed of mystical properties.”   
  
“Such as?”  
  
“Dunno for certain. It's supposed to be a whale pearl - untold mysteries of the ocean depths, brings the owner luck in all things, the usual mumbo-jumbo.”  
  
“Hm,” Jack said, tracing his mustache with a forefinger. “Unusual indeed. Should like to have a look at it.”  
  
Gibbs gave him a sidelong glance. “Bet you would.”  
  
  
  
“Captain says we'll reach Tortuga in two days,” Anamaria said, coming up behind Jack at the rail the following day. He was surprised; they hadn't spoken much since he'd gotten better. He'd never properly thanked her for her help, but he also didn't think she expected it. She regarded him, her dark eyes intent on his expression, and he watched as a few strands of her thick, dark hair were lifted by the wind.  
  
“That's good news,” Jack said, pleased to have her company.  
  
She asked, “What will you do?” as if it actually could matter to her.  
  
“Get drunk.”  
  
She was quiet a second; he could see her wrinkling her nose without even looking. “And then?”  
  
“Go after the _Pearl_.”  
  
“That could prove difficult, if the rumors are true.”  
  
Jack waved away all rumors with three fast sweeps of his ringed fingers. “Nonsense. A curse! Barbossa probably laughed himself silly thinking that one up.”  
  
“I don't know.” Ana's eyes narrowed as she took in the clouds near the horizon. “I've seen some wrecks, Jack. Talked to some sailors who witnessed horrible things. What if it is true, that they're cursed and... different? Not themselves?”  
  
“For the majority of them, any change would have to be an improvement,” he said drolly. “Rumors or not, curse or no, I'll have the _Pearl_ again. Mark my words.” He turned to her after a moment, finding her eyes on him. “Interested in joining me?” he added quietly, as not to be overheard.  
  
“Hmm,” she said, and Jack thought that it wasn't an outright refusal. “Leave a profitable ship, for a fool's errand? Doesn't seem like a good choice.”  
  
“Ah, but consider the leadership.” Jack inclined his head toward a distant Hamilton, who stood frowning over the happenings on deck in a long-outdated mauve and gold tunic. “And account for taste.”  
  
“Taste?” she echoed, and he heard that teasing undertone again. He caught her eye, and she was smiling to one side, her eyes dancing. “Can't say that I know your taste very well.”  
  
“A problem easily solved,” Jack said, leaning a few inches closer.  
  
She stopped him with a palm on his upper chest; the gesture did not go unnoticed by Simmons, who sauntered even more rapidly past, beginning to whistle. She stepped away, putting space between them, before speaking again.  
  
“I don't know that I'll be signing on to any ship right away,” she said thoughtfully, looking out to sea. “Maybe something else.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“I've bought a boat. A friend has care of it in Tortuga.”  
  
Jack chuckled, leaning his elbows on the rail. “ _Captain_ Anamaria.”  
  
“It's just a fishing dory, and needs some repair. But it's mine. Perhaps I've had enough of this, for now,” she said, waving a hand at the deck, the crew.  
  
Jack leveled an incredulous gaze at her. “ _Fishing_? You're going to fish? _You_?”  
  
She stiffened indignantly. “Not by myself. Peace and quiet. And maybe smuggle... small things.”  
  
“Peace and quiet... in a fishing boat,” he repeated, as though making sure he'd got it right.  
  
She whirled on him, angrily. “What difference does it make to you? If I want to fish, let me fish! Quietly!”  
  
At least ten crewmen's heads turned at the volume of her voice, and she huffed in frustration, crossing her arms. Jack began to laugh. Ana fumed.  
  
Finally she turned to go, and he caught her arm. “How do you know if you're a pirate?” he asked her, and his tone told her it was rhetorical. She lifted two thin black brows in reply. “Try to do something else. Anything else. You'll see.”  
  
She seemed to consider his words for a moment, then freed herself and stalked off down the deck.   
  
“You'll always be a pirate,” he called after her, watching as the brim of her hat flapped in the wind.  
  
  
  
That night, just after midnight, he'd found a nice corner of the deck for stargazing; sometimes it was nice to let others take charge. On his own ship he'd be busy doing a hundred things. He folded his arms behind his head and stretched, temporarily forgetting about the wound until it stung, and then he jerked upright, rubbing his side.  
  
A dark shape stood between him and the stars. He blinked, wondering if he ought to be locating a weapon.  
  
Then the shadow hissed, “Come with me,” and extended a woman's hand for him to grasp.  
  
She held him by his shirtfront as she pushed him against the door inside of her cabin.  
  
“Ana-“ he began.  
  
“Shhh!” she said. “We had to talk. In private.”  
  
“Ah,” he said, not a little disappointed, straightening his shirt where she'd held him fast.  
  
She lit a small lamp, and then turned back to him. “There's something I must ask you,” she said, and there was a dark, concerned note in her voice.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
She took a deep breath, placing her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a mother about to scold a naughty child. “When I was leaving the _Janus_ ,” she began, “there was a man. An officer. He asked if you were alive, and I told him you were. He said-“ She broke off, then met Jack's eyes, narrowing her own. “He said we ought to kill you before you could betray us again, that you were the one who sent them to us. Who told them where to find our ship.”  
  
_Bell_ , Jack thought, hoping sincerely that the man had drowned. “Is that all?” Jack said, raising his brows at Ana.   
  
“ _All_?” she echoed, taking a menacing step toward Jack. “That's a serious accusation. Did you? Or did you not?”  
  
“Why'd you wait so long to ask?” Jack said, stepping away from the door to evade Ana's advance.  
  
“Answer the question!”  
  
“And if I did?”  
  
“Then you're lower than dock scum, and I'd enjoy tarring and feathering you myself!”  
  
“I'll bet you would, too,” Jack said, and the cabin was too cramped for their confrontation; he wanted out, but she blocked the door.  
  
“Jack,” she nearly growled, “tell me if it's true. Why would he say it, if it weren't true?”  
  
Jack looked at her, her eyes earnest and angry, her lips tightened; he sighed, and took a step back to sit on the bunk. He rubbed his forehead with a palm.  
  
“Jack?” she said hesitantly, and then marched forward. “Jack! Did you betray us? Did you?”  
  
“I didn't know you were on board,” Jack began, spreading his hands defensively in front of his vitals. “We weren't well acquainted, but you helped me in the past and I'm not totally without gratitude.”  
  
Her mouth opened for a moment; then it closed, and spread into a hard line. “You _did_ send them to us. I knew it.”  
  
He caught the hand that swung out to slap him, holding her wrist tight. “Just listen for a minute. Will you listen?”  
  
“I'm listening, and the more I hear, the more I want to _kill you_ ,” she snapped.  
  
“He already knew about the ship. He knew it was close. He knew the name and everything. Only thing he didn't know was...”  
  
Ana stared, wide-eyed. “Was?!”  
  
“Was where to find you,” Jack finished, and held up both arms as she took a swing at him with her other hand. “I had to tell him something, don't you understand? I lied, I lied about the ship, I told him Hamilton was an idiot, told him the ship was small and under-manned and not well armed, I knew you'd win in a skirmish, see? Try to think for a moment, put yourself in my place, I half-lied... it was the best I could do under the circumstances-”  
  
He broke off under the onslaught of her punches to his forearms that he held up to protect his face. After few minutes she suddenly stopped hitting him, and turned back to the door, one hand on her hip, the other running through her hair, seeming to be in a crisis of indecision. Jack peered cautiously between his aching forearms before he slowly lowered them and got up to follow her.   
  
“Well, go on. Go up and tell Hamilton I'm a traitorous dog.”  
  
“What makes you think I haven't told him already?” she shot back, whirling to face him.  
  
“I'm still alive, for one thing,” Jack answered, taking her shoulders. “Why haven't you, then? Eight years of service, oughtn't you to be loyal? Why not tell him?”  
  
“Because he'd kill you,” she hissed back, throwing his hands from her shoulders.  
  
“So? Why not tell him, have him kill me? Why the hell not?”  
  
“So I could kill you _myself_ ,” she ground out, jabbing an accusing forefinger at the center of his chest.  
  
Jack caught her hand; he smiled, as she panted with rage. She snatched her hand back from him as though it burned.  
  
“Go tell him,” Jack whispered, leaning over to spread a palm on the door above her shoulder. “Go on. I won't stop you.”  
  
“Damn you,” she growled, shoving at his encroaching chest with both hands. “I'll send you straight to _hell_!”  
  
“One thing at a time,” he growled back, and caught her face between his hands and kissed her.  
  
Only a moment of shock, before the tide turned and she was returning his kiss; Jack was not surprised, because he'd been reading her and knew she wanted him and that was why it was all tangled up, her loyalties and her anger and whatever she felt for him. She didn't pretend not to want him, didn't bother with maidenly protests, but threw her head back and groaned when he dragged his mouth down her neck, and squeezed his hips between her strong thighs as he pushed her hard against the door. The contact, his hardness to her heat, was electric, and he groaned as he rocked against her, noting a small pain as she gripped his hair so hard that she nearly ripped it from his head.  
  
  
* *  
  
“Jack!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I asked you to stop!”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“It's... _obscene_.”  
  
“What? The story?” Jack turned an incredulous gaze on Elizabeth's naked form as she lay next to him, raking over her before returning his eyes to her face. “After what _we've_ been doing, you think the _story_ 's obscene?”  
  
“Well it's not quite the same, hearing all that about someone else!”  
  
“Ah.” Jack grinned at her. “Jealousy.”  
  
“No. _No_ , not jealousy,” Elizabeth said firmly, as she turned to rise over him and glare down at him. Tawny hair shifted to pool on her shoulders, and warm brown eyes narrowed at him. “It's simply not decent. I've _met_ Ana - I don't need to know all the sordid details of your-“  
  
“You _are_ jealous,” Jack insisted, still smiling. “No worries - it's rather endearing.”  
  
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You listen here, Jack Sparrow. First, I am not jealous because I don't _care_ what you've done. Second, I'm not jealous because I happen to be in _love_ with _Will_. Third, I am not jealous because it's a pointless-“  
  
“Now you're just being childish,” Jack said, catching her finger, his smile gone. “You wanted the story - “  
  
“Of your adventures!”  
  
“My adventures happen to include other women.”  
  
“Well, you can skip those parts!”  
  
“No. I won't. This is who I am, and you know it, and I think you ought to hear it all, if you want to hear anything at all. You wanted the truth, didn't you? There it is. Yes. I bedded Anamaria, there and then, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. There's your truth.”  
  
She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, before turning away. “I should be getting back. It's late.”  
  
“Oh, _come_ on,” Jack said, watching as she rose, still gloriously nude, and began to search for her clothing. “Elizabeth.”  
  
“Don't 'Elizabeth' me. I've had enough for tonight.”  
  
“Really? Had your fill, have you?” Jack was getting angrier, and sat up, watching as she buttoned her shirt. “Can't I share a few more details about Ana? Maybe you'd like to know how many times I had her, and how, and what she sounded like, and if she was better than you were? Hm?”  
  
“Oh, stuff it. You're disgusting,” Elizabeth said as she shrugged into her tunic.  
  
“Funny how you only seem to mind that _sometimes_ ,” Jack said, wrapping the sheet around his lower half as he climbed out of the bed. “Elizabeth, this is ridiculous. Stop dressing. You're not going anywhere.”  
  
“Watch me.”  
  
“It's the middle of the night.”  
  
“Watch me, with a lantern.” She finished buttoning her tunic and sat to pull on her boots, and Jack put himself between her and the door.   
  
“I know you're young, darling, but try to understand; I've lived a lot of years and known a lot of women and it's just a fact to be accepted.”  
  
Elizabeth scoffed at his patronizing tone, tugging on her second boot. “I don't give a damn how many women you've had! All I said is that I don't need to know every last dirty bit of it!”  
  
“And why not? What's it matter?” He pointed a self-righteous finger at her chin. “You're _jealous_!”  
  
She stamped her foot, rather in the manner of a petulant child, Jack observed. “I am _not_ jealous, Jack Sparrow, as I said before, because I... _don't... love you_!”  
  
Jack smiled a bitter smile, waving a hand carelessly in the air. “You think I let this sort of nonsense bother me?” He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders, hauling her toward him. “You think I let it bother me, knowing that Will could have had you a dozen times and would have had you first, if I hadn't beaten him to it?”  
  
Her eyes went wide; then she socked him, right in the eye, and Jack swore as he heard her dashing out of the cabin, the door slamming in her wake. “Shit!” he said, disentangling the sheet from around him and searching for his breeches with his left hand while holding his eye with his right. He found them and pulled them on faster than ever before, feeling his face begin to throb as he employed both hands to fasten them.   
  
He came flying out of the cabin, hair wild, eye swelling, thinking - strangely - that if he were planning to chase her across town he'd need his boots, when a look from Cotton at the wheel stopped him. Cotton inclined his head, once, toward the stern, and Jack charged around the side until he turned a corner and saw her, leaning on the rail with her elbows and her face buried in her hands, where quiet sobs were racking her body.  
  
There was a moon that night, and a few stars peeking out from among clouds. He stopped where he was, wondering if he ought to leave her alone, but he found he wasn't able to, anyway, and crossed the distance between them. She didn't see him until he was right beside her, and she struggled and scratched when he put his arms around her, but he held on tight and kept whispering, “I'm _sorry_. All right? Sorry, shouldn't have... damn it all, bloody fool tongue, gets away from me.”  
  
He tangled his hands in her hair as she beat his shoulder weakly with her fist, and she hissed words at him between sobs, of which he only caught some: wish I'd never - _pirate_ \- bloody - compass - fool of a - stupid questions - damn you - damn stories - women - don't care if you - sorry - madness - deserve whatever you -   
  
“Shhh,” he said, stroking her hair and looking grimly out to sea. When she'd calmed, he brushed his lips over her forehead, but it wasn't quite a kiss. “Bet you regret it now, eh? Thought you might.”  
  
She didn't mistake his meaning; he wasn't talking about their disagreement. She seemed to recognize his dismal expression, and opened her mouth to protest. “Jack-“  
  
“I told you you'd regret it,” he whispered. “Didn't I warn you? Didn't I tell you it was dangerous? Messy?”  
  
She furrowed her brows, shaking her head. She cleared her throat. “Jack, I never regretted it - these past two days, I didn't - not once, not till... just now. Before.”  
  
He regarded her solemnly. “Not even once?”  
  
“Not till you said... those things.”  
  
“I'm sorry. I talk without thinking most of the time. Only sometimes gets me in trouble.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes, assessing his expression. “You meant to humiliate me.”  
  
“Course I did.”  
  
“What did I do, to deserve that?”  
  
_You said you didn't love me, you heartless wretch_ , he thought, but caught it on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he forced a smile. “All that drivel about what's obscene and what's not. Never was much for being judged and found wanting by some snobby chit what calls herself a pirate lass.”  
  
“Can you clean up your stories, Jack, or not?”  
  
“Only if you can admit you're jealous.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “ _This_ again. Jack, I'm not jealous; I can't help it if I find it repulsive to imagine you and that woman doing... whatever it was.”  
  
“Elizabeth-“ Jack took her by the shoulders and shook her gently to punctuate his words. “That's... jealousy!”  
  
“Fine!” she said, shaking his hands from her. “Fine. Can't we leave it alone? Can't you start from the next morning?”  
  
Jack smiled mischievously. “Is that an admission of guilt?”  
  
She gave a frustrated sigh, throwing up her hands. “I'm going inside,” she said over her shoulder, pushing past him toward the cabin. “When you're quite finished gloating, I do hope you'll join me.”  
  
He let her go alone, and turned his eyes out to sea for a while, watching the rays of moonlight sparkle on low, sloping waves, listening to the gentle sloshing of water against the hull; it might have been the sound of everything he thought he knew, everything he thought himself to be, upended and splashed across an inky canvas, never to look or feel the same again.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
  
When he returned to his cabin, he opened the door, noticing a single candle was left burning, and that Elizabeth was back in his bed; naked, he presumed, from scanning the clothes strewn about the cabin, but with the sheet demurely tucked under her chin. She lay on her side, facing toward him, and as he shut the door, her eyes blinked open, and she stifled a yawn with a long-fingered hand.  
  
“How long have I been asleep?” she said.  
  
“Not long. Perhaps half an hour.”  
  
He watched as she stretched, his eyes following the curves of her slim form against the sheet; the knowledge that she was bare beneath was making him hard, strangely, since he didn't think he'd manage that again for days. Or at least one day.  
  
“Awfully brash of you to strip naked before I got here,” he said as he swaggered toward the bed.  
  
“I'm not naked,” she said haughtily, sitting up to hug her knees, and from the bedclothes she withdrew Jack's hat, showing it to him before placing it on her head. She turned a wicked grin on Jack, pushing the brim of the hat up with a forefinger when it swallowed her forehead. “It's too big,” she admitted as he reached the bed, climbing in next to her.  
  
“No such thing,” Jack purred as he pulled the sheet away in one motion, admiring her graceful nudity as she rolled toward him, balancing on her hip and elbow, the hat once again falling over her eyes. She reached up to remove it, and he caught her hand, clicking his tongue in protest. “Leave it.”  
  
“Why?” she asked suspiciously from beneath the brim.  
  
“'Cause I like it. Don't you trust me?”  
  
“That depends. Have you forgiven me?”  
  
“Not terribly hard, since it was only one punch.”  
  
“Not that,” she said, and it was quiet for a moment, the echo of his months-ago murder still somewhere in the room, somewhere in the air between them. He traced a finger over her jaw, across her neck and over her collarbone. Threat and caress, at once.   
  
“If I hadn't, why would we be here?” he mused, taking advantage of her inability to see in order to lower his hand and palm a breast, catching her pert nipple against the center of his hand, listening to her small surprised hiss of pleasure.  
  
“Because you can't help yourself,” she murmured, teasing, extending a hand to feel blindly along his shoulder to his neck, drawing him down to her.  
  
“ _Me_?” he replied, letting her pull him down to kiss her, telling her with lips and teeth and sheer intensity that in the light of recent events, even forgiveness - or the lack thereof - seemed completely, delightfully irrelevant.  
  
Her legs were wrapped tight around him as they warred for dominance, skin of her thighs slick with sweat slipping against his bare hips, she trying to sit atop him while he continued to roll her onto her back, the hat slipping off her head and falling to parts unknown. They ended up on the floor with a thud and he could have caught her arms and held her down, but didn't see the fun in it, and so she was soon astride his lap again, smiling in victory before he shoved his fingers through her hair at the base of her skull and buried himself inside of her before she could move again. Several minutes passed with only flesh and skin and small groans of pleasure between them before Elizabeth spoke.  
  
“Say you forgive me,” she whispered quietly against his ear as she rode him, comfortable with it now, and dazed enough with passion to be saying things she ought not.   
  
Jack wanted to have his guard up, wanted to close her out and just feel the physical, the hot and wet and needy. “Say you trust me,” he countered, nipping at her ear as he met her with his hips.  
  
“Never trust a pirate,” she whispered back, a small laugh in her broken voice, as she moved faster, taking him deep and relentlessly.  
  
“Nor a woman,” he growled, his gritted teeth nestled against her collarbone. “Especially...”  
  
But he broke off, mid-thought and mid-sentence, his defenses and rationale splintering and shattering as he came hard, blindingly, half-unaware of her cries of release and her fingernails biting into the flesh of his shoulder. He soon realized, with chagrin, he'd forgotten to lift her off, to prevent impregnating her; he didn't know what he was doing, any more, and struggled against a feeling of being overwhelmed, a condition he thought rather unsuited to his years.  
  
His eyes were still closed when he heard her panting, “Especially? Especially what?” a minute later, her hands tapping gently on either side of his face to attempt to rouse him from his stupor.  
  
“Don't remember,” he said. “Doesn't matter.” By the look in her eye as he helped her back into bed, he was fairly certain she could tell at least one of those statements was a lie.  
  
After a few minutes, when her breathing had returned to normal, and she'd washed as he instructed, Elizabeth whispered, “The servants wake at five. By four I should be gone.”  
  
“Sounds about right,” he said, pressing a kiss to her jaw, along the curve of her neck.  
  
“So... the next morning, Jack?”  
  
He peered down at her. “What do you mean? Leave at four, like you said.”  
  
“The _story_ ,” she said, and her gaze fell on his face, where his eye socket had reddened angrily. She brushed her thumb over it in wonder.  
  
“Yes, you hit hard,” Jack said ruefully. “I'll have a bruise. Thank you.”  
  
“Didn't mean to.”  
  
“The hell you didn't.”  
  
“I didn't mean to _bruise_ you... go on with the tale, won't you?”  
  
When he began the story again, commencing at the next morning, as she requested, he didn't tell her a good many things... He didn't tell her how beautiful Ana's dark hair was, or her pecan skin or how good she tasted; didn't tell her that Ana was fierce and strong as a lover, and had probably been ages without a man, because she couldn't trust a lot of men, and God only knew why she'd decided to trust him. He didn't tell her that in the year after he'd regained the _Black Pearl_ Ana had been his companion as well as crewman for a while, until she up and left him and set off on her own, muttering about invisible women in their bed and damning Jack to the devil. He didn't tell Elizabeth any of that, or that no matter how many women he'd had before Elizabeth, he didn't think he'd be able to enjoy thoughts of any of them - often - ever again.  
  
* *   
  
The next morning, Jack opened his eyes when Ana gasped, lifting her head with a jerk from where it rested atop his bare chest.  
  
“I'm late for my watch,” she whispered, already struggling to free herself of the bedclothes.  
  
“Not without good reason,” Jack murmured with a saucy half-grin, shifting to let her out of bed. She dressed hurriedly and told him to do the same.  
  
There were heavy thudding footfalls in the corridor by the time she slipped out the door and closed it behind her; Jack rose, clad only in breeches, to listen at the door.  
  
“You're late,” announced a clipped male voice. Hamilton.  
  
“Overslept,” Ana replied, and Jack got the impression he was blocking her path, as he did not hear any more footsteps.  
  
“Sparrow in there?” Hamilton asked in a sort of bitter growl. Jack began to think that despite Ana's fearsome demeanor, Teddy had developed a sort of possessive tendre for her.  
  
“Yes,” Ana said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “His wound opened last evening, and I was afraid of infection. I thought it would be better if he rested here.”  
  
Jack's eyebrows rose. She was telling the truth and lying at the same time. He almost chuckled - perhaps she'd been taking lessons from _him_.   
  
Two thumps - Teddy's boots, moving decidedly closer. “Did you? And did our patient get lots of... rest?”  
  
“Of course,” came Ana's reply, and her voice sounded more distant. She'd pushed past him. “I should get on deck, Captain.”  
  
“Indeed,” Hamilton answered, and then they both were gone. Jack whistled softly. No wonder Ana was ready for a change - bloodthirsty pirate wench she might be, but perhaps she was tired of having to keep her captain always at arm's length.  
  
Jack didn't blame her. The man wore entirely too much purple.  
  
* * *  
  
“Jack,” Gibbs said to him as the two of them aided in the re-arranging of the cargo hold to make room for fresh supplies. They worked only under threat of lashing, and Jack had muttered something about having bled enough. “What are we going to do when we reach Tortuga?”  
  
Jack paused momentarily in the rolling of a barrel, noting the use of 'we'. “An excellent question, Mr. Gibbs.” He recommenced rolling, and Gibbs followed.  
  
“Ye still mean to go after the _Pearl_?”  
  
“Indeed I do. However, recent information leads me to consider further counsel on the matter.”  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
“I've an old friend I'd like to consult.”  
  
Gibbs righted his barrel, leaning exhaustedly on the top. “Another 'old friend'? I'm startin' to think ye don't know exactly what that phrase ought to mean.”  
  
“I can't help it if there's a general dearth of generosity in the world.” Jack, aided by Gibbs, stowed his barrel in a leaky corner.  
  
“And this old friend - what's he going to do fer us?”  
  
“She.”  
  
Gibbs' brows rose, and his eyes narrowed. “ _She_?” He chuckled. “Next ye'll have me going to see that witch o' yours.” There was a silence, and Jack gave a quick smile, which faded under Gibbs' glare, and Jack began to examine the dirt under his fingernails. Gibbs pointed a grubby finger at him. “Ye _do_ mean to go to yer witch?!”  
  
“My witch has her talents,” Jack countered, gently pushing down Gibbs' extended digit.  
  
“Like turning men into beasts, no doubt.”   
  
“And a little divination, of which I happen to be in need just at present.” Jack turned back toward the opposite side of the hold, beginning to make his way among the crates in the near-darkness. “Got to find out what all this nonsense is about a curse. Only thing is, I haven't got the proper compensation.”  
  
“Gold?” Gibbs asked, falling into step beside him - or trying to, as Jack never did walk a very straight path.  
  
“Won't do it. She's not terribly interested in money.”  
  
“Well, that's good, since we haven't got any.”  
  
Jack tilted his head in agreement as he approached a crate of provisions, gesturing for Gibbs to help him lift it. “Tia Dalma prefers payment in the form of the preternaturally munificent. The extraordinarily valuable in the form of the peculiar or even somewhat grisly object.”  
  
“S'pose a chunk o' that ghastly hair o' yours would fit that description,” Gibbs said, gripping the crate and lifting.  
  
Jack gave an offended look before he gritted his teeth, carrying the crate to the other side of the hold. “What we need - though I'm stymied on the when and how - is that whale pearl of Teddy's. That would do... quite nicely,” he finished as they set down the crate with a grunt.  
  
Gibbs sat upon it, beginning to mop his brow with a filthy rag. “He'll gut ye for sure if he catches you stealing it.”  
  
“Quite right.” Jack sat beside him, leaning back against the hull, crossing his feet on an adjacent crate and steepling his fingers thoughtfully.   
  
“S'pose ye'll tell me to believe in your abilities.”  
  
“I believe in the opportune moment,” Jack answered, casting his eyes dismally over the work they'd left to do.   
  
“When's that?”  
  
“Not sure, but I know it when I see it. Usually,” Jack said, and sighed before clapping Gibbs on the back. “Back to work, mate. I need a bit of a breathing spell, and if me stitches tear out again, you'll have a mess on your hands.”  
  
Gibbs grumbled about lazy pirates as he got off the crate and went back to work.  
  
* * *  
  
“Ol' Teddy's panting after you,” Jack whispered to Ana as he caught hold of her waist in a dark corner of the crew deck. “Not that I blame him.”  
  
“He doesn't like being called that,” she whispered back before she kissed him, but Jack's exploratory venture northward with his right hand was arrested by her firm grip on his wrist.  
  
“Not here.”  
  
“Your cabin?”  
  
“He suspects. Wait until Tortuga.”  
  
“Can't. Still a day from now.” He nibbled at the base of her neck until she groaned.   
  
“Cargo hold,” she said, conceding defeat, and Jack stood back to allow her to pass before following in her wake, taking in the view.  
  
“How'd you put up with it all this time? Teddy's lechery, I mean?”   
  
She shook her head as they descended the steps. “He fancies himself a gentleman. It was never like this until the past year or so. He keeps threatening to find a gift worthy of me, and I always remind him I'm not a woman.”  
  
“Could have fooled me.”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Ana said, and they switched places as Jack led her on a merry trail among the crates and barrels he and Gibbs had displaced earlier.  
  
“Must be difficult to be a woman,” Jack mused as he began to strip her, loosening her breeches so that they fell over her boots, and then employing his hand to gauge her readiness for any further undertaking. She was already wet for him, and he expressed his appreciation with fingers and his lips against her throat.  
  
“Sometimes, it's hard to be a woman,” she gasped as she arched her hips against his palm, and then smiled against his shoulder. “But not... right... _now_.”  
  
* * *  
  
“Jack!” Elizabeth turned her head to glare at him.  
  
“Sorry. Couldn't resist. Now, where was I? Oh. Here, perhaps?”  
  
“Jack...”  
  
“Perhaps it was... here.”  
  
“ _Jack_.”  
  
“Hmm, yes. Right there, I think.”  
  
She gasped, and he bent to capture her lips with his, causing the story - and the protests - a temporary cessation. When their interlude was finished, he looked at her long and hard, his fair and long-legged pirate princess, his fingers dancing caresses over her soft skin, finding all the peaks and valleys before winding tight in the silken ropes of her hair.  
  
* * *  
  
Tortuga, though Jack hadn't seen it for the better part of eight years, was more or less the same. Pirate ships, some familiar, some not, the usual buccaneers and miscreants, their companions and those who made a living at the docks and taverns. Jack felt a sense of homecoming upon reaching it, although perhaps that was just the rum, which he consumed in large quantities their first night in port.  
  
Jack helped himself to a few poorly guarded coin purses; the money bought he and Gibbs some drinks, beds at the inn, and helped to arrange passage on a ship heading the way they wished to go. Jack wanted to sail with the ship, disembark at the mouth of a river, and head up by longboat, after which they would rendezvous with the ship in two days on its return sail.   
  
They still lacked the right payment for Tia Dalma. Jack had kept his eyes open, but few opportunities presented themselves; as they prepared to leave the _Faithful Bride_ on their last evening in port, Jack and Gibbs had begun to despair of their venture.  
  
They were making their way among four or five carousing pirates, swinging mugs of ale and singing sea shanties in a group - Jack noted, with some amusement, that each of them was singing a _different_ sea shanty - when he spied in a table along the wall a few familiar figures.  
  
Anamaria was engaged deep in conversation with Gory Teddy, who seemed to have a few lists in front of him - probably seeing to supplies and a crew for the next trip - but Ana kept shaking her head, animatedly, as though she were insisting on something. From their current position, Jack couldn't hear their conversation, and he didn't want to be seen.   
  
“This way,” he said to Gibbs, and the two of them left the tavern and slipped around the side, where Jack pushed a partially open window a few inches in, and he crouched with his eyes and nose above the sill, Gibbs stooping behind him.  
  
Ana and Hamilton were perhaps six feet away, and Jack could just hear their conversation over the din. Simmons, Black and a few other crewmen from the _Traitor_ drank at an adjacent table, seemingly oblivious to the argument between the captain and first mate.  
  
“I'm not after a larger percentage,” Ana was saying, the edge of her palm touching the table in emphasis. “I don't want to come at all. I want to seek my own fortune. Alone.”  
  
“And what do you think you're going to do?” Hamilton shot back, clearly offended. “What'll yield you more gold than my ship?”  
  
“What makes you think gold is all I want?”  
  
“You're a _pirate_.”  
  
“For now. Maybe not forever.”  
  
“Anamaria, you're a fine pirate. You keep order, fight well, keep your head - most of the time - and scare the devil out of men when you don't. We set sail in two days! Backing out now is like carving a huge hole in my ship!”  
  
“I told you weeks ago I wasn't certain. Take your pick of men here in Tortuga.”  
  
Jack couldn't see Teddy's face - no great loss, there - but he saw Ana lean back suddenly, putting distance between them. His voice turned soft, cajoling, and Jack could barely hear. “Ana, I've a proposition for you.”  
  
“No. No propositions.”  
  
Teddy was rummaging in the folds of an indigo tunic for a leather pouch, which he withdrew, and set on the table. “You don't want to sign on as a pirate - fine. Come with us, then, as a lady. Mine.”  
  
Ana's palms spread flat on the table, and she leapt up. “Don't start this again.”  
  
“Listen to reason, will you?” Teddy caught one of her hands, turning it palm-up. “I've become a rich man, Ana, and there's only more where this came from. It's my gift to you. Here. Say you're mine, and you'll have more riches than your little fishing boat could ever give you.”  
  
Ana looked startled at what Teddy had placed in her palm; Jack had a good look as she held it up to the light. It was a pink stone, about the size of a chicken's egg, with light and dark rose swirls inside. The whale pearl.  
  
“Don't be stupid, darling,” Jack whispered against the windowsill. “Please, please, don't be stupid. Say you'll think about it and leave.”  
  
Ana's eyes fell back to Teddy, narrowing and her hand lowered. “You're a fool, Hamilton, if you think a pretty stone can change my mind about anything.”  
  
“No no. Shut up, shut up! Bloody hotheaded wench,” Jack hissed.  
  
Hamilton was offended, now; he stood, turning confrontationally to her, his hooked nose twitching. “What's _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means you're an idiot! I'm not your lady! I don't belong to anyone!”  
  
“And why not? You're a woman under those clothes, aren't you?”  
  
“Not to you!” she yelled, and heads at nearby tables began to turn.  
  
Teddy, infuriated now, marched over to her side, catching her hair against her shoulder as he squeezed it. Jack saw Ana start, and felt a flare of anger in his gut. “And who _are_ you a woman for, I wonder,” he growled at her, hanging on as she tried to twist out of his grip. “That bastard Jack Sparrow?”  
  
When he fisted his hand in her hair, she bellowed with rage, and took a swing at him; she missed, and the next thing Jack knew, she had hauled back with her right arm and hurled the whale pearl with all her might, straight toward the window where Jack watched. He ducked quickly as the stone came sailing toward them, breaking one of the windowpanes, and he heard Gibbs grunt and fall backward onto the dirt, as the stone had hit him right between the eyebrows.  
  
Jack continued to watch as a general melee broke out in the tavern. Simmons had attempted to intervene between Teddy and Ana, receiving a punch for his trouble, which he returned. Black defended his companion, also swinging at the captain, and before long a brawl had begun, chairs and mugs and bottles in use, and bystanders becoming involved as bodies flew onto their tables and spilled their drinks. Jack smiled. Tortuga as usual.  
  
“Sacred Lady and Saints,” Gibbs said, and Jack turned to see him rubbing the center of his forehead with his palm as he sat up from the ground. “ _Why_ am I always getting hit in the head with things?”  
  
“Either an overly large forehead, or overly dull reflexes,” Jack replied, and drew back his right hand to smack his companion soundly across the face.  
  
Gibbs jerked back at the blow, and a second later turned furious eyes on Jack. “Blimey, Jack, what the hell was that for?!”  
  
“The reflexes, then,” Jack concluded, beginning to scan the dark ground for the pearl, as Gibbs mumbled plaintively about rhetorical questions. When Jack moved away from the windowsill, having to free the end of his bandanna, which had somehow become snagged on a nail and caught, he crawled on his hands and knees in the surrounding dirt and grass, looking for the egg-sized stone.  
  
A glint of pink in the moonlight caught his eye; from among a tuft of weeds, Jack withdrew the pearl, holding it up in wonder. “There you are, precious,” Jack purred, turning the pearl over in his palm. “Pretty, don't you think, Mr. Gibbs?”  
  
Gibbs, still holding a hand to his head, leaned close to examine it. “I s'pose. But will it get us what we want?”  
  
“Oh, I do hope so,” Jack said, before tucking it away in a pouch strapped to his belt. “Now, let us depart for our ship, before anyone's the wiser.”  
  
“What about, er, Miss Ana?” Gibbs said, inclining his head toward the window. “Should we... help?”  
  
Jack followed his gaze through the window to see Ana knocking a man out with a single punch, who flew backward into two other men, bringing them down as well. She then turned with a fierce cry, using the dagger she clutched in her left hand to slice another man's shirt from neck to navel.  
  
“Help who?” Jack said, his brows raised in a sort of nervous admiration. He jerked his head in the direction of the docks. “Let's be gone.”  
  
He failed to notice the tiny scrap of his bandanna left caught on the nail by the window.  
  
  
* * *  
  
“Jack, I can't believe you,” Elizabeth said, frowning at him from her place on the pillow beside him. “Last night you said you gave that pearl as a gift. It wasn't a gift, it was payment!”  
  
Jack shrugged, not looking at her. “Same difference.”  
  
“How can you say that?”  
  
“No one ever gives a gift without expecting something in return. All the same, forms of compensation.”  
  
“That's _not_ what a gift means.” She regarded him, shifting her thigh against his. “For such an 'old man,' as you said, you've got a lot to learn.”  
  
“And so have you,” Jack murmured in reply, tracing the curve of her thigh with his palm. “Starting with how to tell time. It's quarter past four.”  
  
Elizabeth's eyes went wide. “ _What_?” She sprang from the bed even as he chuckled. “I didn't hear eight bells! I've got to get back,” she said, scrambling back into her clothing.  
  
Jack laughed as he sank back onto the pillow. “Relax, darling, it's only half-past three.”  
  
She paused in the midst of inserting her leg in her breeches to reach over and smack him.  
  
“Take your time,” Jack said, leaning up to help her button her shirt. “After all, who knows when we shall meet again?”  
  
This pronouncement effectively arrested all movement; Elizabeth's mouth opened and closed, and she turned away from Jack to finish dressing by herself.  
  
“We're setting sail tomorrow,” Jack told her, watching as she went to find her boots. “There's a Navy ship been patrolling too close for my taste. She'll make port in a day or two.”  
  
“So soon?” Elizabeth said, and Jack thought he detected tremendous effort in keeping her voice level and even.  
  
“Aye, so soon,” he echoed, and when she caught his eye, he smiled at her somewhat stricken look.  
  
“I rather thought you'd... be hereabouts for a bit,” she said, tugging on a boot.   
  
“Hanging about, hoping for visits from highborn lasses?” Jack teased, swinging his legs out of bed to find his own clothing.  
  
She smoothed the leather over her calf, and picked up the other boot. “Perhaps till the wedding, at least,” she said casually, and Jack paused in the midst of pulling on his breeches.  
  
“And what, may I ask, would be the point of _that_?” Jack said sharply.  
  
“No point. Just a thought.”  
  
His eyes narrowed at her. “Sure.”  
  
“Well, you'll have to come and say goodbye,” she said with forced brightness, standing to button her tunic.   
  
“Will I? I think this is goodbye, my dear,” Jack answered, already rummaging through a nearby trunk, tossing out assorted items onto the floor - a piece of wrought iron, a wicker basket, several sizes of swords and guns, an empty rum bottle, old, faded, leather-bound books - until he said, “Ah!” and withdrew a small, gray tricorn hat, and turned back to her.  
  
“No,” she said softly, facing him.  
  
He frowned, his lip protruding. “Don't like the hat?”  
  
“This is _not_ goodbye,” she said, and he ignored her for the moment, lifting the hat and placing it carefully on her head.  
  
“Suits you.”  
  
“Jack-“  
  
“Go on, now. Let's not make this difficult.”  
  
She stared up at him for a moment, and then folded her mouth in a determined line. “Very well.”  
  
“Good night, darling. Have a nap tomorrow afternoon. You'll need it.”  
  
“Goodbye, Jack,” she said, and turned to the door, walked calmly toward it, and opened it. He followed her, and stood at the rail as she climbed down their makeshift gangplank onto the jetty of rocks in the cove. The sky was beginning to lighten, though there was still no trace of sun.  
  
Jack tried his best not to call after her as she walked away. He paced toward the foremast and around it, he bit his tongue until it stung, he tapped his fingers up and down the rail, he twirled a piece of hair, he shifted on his feet, but in the end, he couldn't hold back any longer, and ran back to the rail. “Give you one day more,” he called to her retreating back, just as she reached the path where the rocks met the shore, about twenty feet away from him.  
  
She turned back in an instant, as though she'd been expecting him to speak, and took a step toward the water as her gaze found his face. “There's an old church down the road. Meet me.”  
  
“Two days, at sunset.” He paused, unable to think of words to express everything he was feeling right then, not wanting to feel it, not wanting to express it. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful in the pre-dawn light, halo of golden brown hair whipped around her face by the breeze, standing there on the grass just beyond the prow of his ship, piercing brown eyes intent on him, and that he'd stay there forever just to watch her, or at least an hour to make sure she was safe. But true to form, and flashing a belligerent smile, all Jack could say was, “Don't forget your hat.”  
  
She seemed to understand what was left unsaid in his somewhat incongruous request, doffing the hat in a mock salute, and then smiled as she waved goodbye, moving backward toward the path.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
